Treasure Hunter
by Lord of Kavaka
Summary: Since the day her mother died, Kate Beckett has been on a quest to find the truth, making a career of acquiring rare and hard to find artifacts for private collectors and museums across the globe. Now she's in hot pursuit of those responsible, while also dodging investigative journalist Rick Castle in search of his next story. AU. Castle Winter Hiatus 2015 Ficathon Entry.
1. Prologue

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 ** _Prologue_**

* * *

 _2003 – Location: Remote Island in the Aegean Sea_

* * *

The fire crackled and snapped as the inferno raged around her. The heat was oppressive, forcing her to recoil away from the walls, and shield her face. The heat was so intense it dried her tears. In her haste to avoid the flames, she bumped into the dead body of the hired thug she'd just been forced to shoot. Her first kill. Her throat constricted and her heart palpated in her chest as she relived every second of the last ten minutes. It had been in self-defense. He'd left her no choice. It was either kill or be killed. Still, that did not mean it didn't affect her all the same.

"God," she whimpered, staring down at the ruined mess that had been the man's face. Her hands shook and her entire body trembled. "Oh God." She coughed, and ducked her head down, closing her eyes as she wept for the terrible deed she'd been forced to commit. Nothing was ever going to be the same after this. Nothing.

Hot flames licked at her skin, and she snapped out of her thoughts, jerking into motion.

Ignoring the risks, and focusing on what she had to do to survive, Kate Beckett checked to ensure her messenger bag was still securely fashioned to her side, before she pushed up from her crouch and ran for the doorway. She held her hands up as she reached the threshold, coming to a skidding halt. The hall beyond was ablaze, necessitating a retreat back into the main chamber of the ancient monastery. Somewhere off in the distance an explosion caused the ancient timber beams above her head to rattle. The old wood creaked and groaned.

Gritting her teeth, she carefully shifted her feet along the floorboards, wincing when the weakened wood creaked under her weight. Kate wiped at her brow, and brushed the stray strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

The situation was desperate, and she needed a way out.

Arching her neck, she glanced around the chamber, searching for another exit. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted her escape, though it was behind a wall of flame. Steeling herself, Kate tucked her arms in closer to her chest and dove through the flames. Her feet landed with a hard thud on the other side. The floorboards groaned in protest at the impact, and Kate quickly dashed forward before the floor could give way. Making a jump for it, she tumbled into the clear hallway just as the eaves above splintered and came crashing down into the chamber.

"Shit," she hissed out, scrambling onward down the hall.

It wasn't over, and she knew that. The flames were in hot pursuit.

Cursing again, she pushed herself back up to her feet, and darted down the hallway, using her momentum to carry her forward as the building started falling apart. Bouncing off the walls, Kate dodged burning bits of debris and shrapnel that lay strewn in her path. A wooden beam had been lowered across the door at the end of the hall, blocking her escape. She grunted as she kicked at the rotting piece of wood. She cried out when a jagged piece cut into her ankle. Ignoring the pain, she kicked again and again. It took her several tries before it gave way.

The door flew open, and Kate had to watch herself, least her momentum carry her over the edge of the rocky promontory. The wind and rain roared around her in an almost unnatural storm. Her heart pumped wildly beneath her breast as she glanced down at the ruined village below. Just like the monastery, it had been set ablaze.

"Ganz, you bastard," she cursed under her breath. That man had no respect for the past. He was nothing but a thug, hired to acquire rare artifacts, most of which found their way onto the black market. He had never cared about the history of what he took. Unlike Kate and her friends, Ganz was in it for the money.

The rhythmic whirl of helicopter rotors snapped her back to the present. Flicking her gaze up, she spotted the chopper. The blades cut through the rough air, rotating the flying craft towards her. The door slide open and there, in the passenger bay, Kate saw him… Russell Ganz.

The man gave her a smug grin as he tugged his hand back, pulling another man into view. Kate's eyes went wide with horror and shock.

"NO!" she cried, futilely reaching out for him.

Ganz smiled with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Give it to me!" he shouted over the combined cacophony of the helicopter motor, storm, and the raging fire.

"Don't do it, Ka—"

"Shut up!" Ganz jabbed his knee into his prisoner's back, effectively silencing him. The villain looked back up at Kate with dark eyes. "Give me the chalice and the old man lives."

Kate hesitated, eyes locked on the man doubled over on his knees, coughing up blood. She'd never seen Mike Royce in such a state. Since the day they'd met, she had been in awe of him. He'd been larger than life, capable of anything.

Swallowing her fear, Kate steadied her trembling form, and shot a glare straight at Ganz. "You know I can't do that," she growled, barely hearing her own voice over the hammering of her heart.

" _Tsk-tsk_ ," Ganz shook his head disapprovingly. He adjusted his footing as the helicopter shifted to compensate for a sudden gust of wind. Ganz pulled out a revolver and pressed the barrel to the back of Royce's head. "Are you really willing to make the sacrifice, Kate?"

Pursing her lips, she flicked her eyes down to her mentor. He stared back at her with piercing eyes, telegraphing his wishes. She gulped and shook her head. No. He couldn't be serious. Nothing… not even the legendary Chalice of King Minos was worth it.

Ganz clocked the hammer back. "Don't think I won't do it," he insisted. "It's just a damn cup. Hand it over."

Kate glanced back and forth between the two men, her resolve weakening. Mike Royce had been her rock for the last two years. He understood her need and drive, her obsession. And he hadn't judged her for it, like others had. Instead, he'd taken her under his wing, taught her the tools of the trade, help to mold her into the woman she'd become. He was everything to her. She couldn't just watch Ganz shoot him, especially not from some ancient piece of treasure.

"I'm growing impatient!" Ganz snarled.

"Okay… okay," Kate held up her hands in surrender. She adjusted the straps of her green messenger bag, and pulled it around to her front. Opening the flap, she carefully removed the tarnished gold chalice. "It's right here… just… just let him go."

Ganz eyed the artifact with a hungry look, letting go of the handle on the side of the helicopter door, and holding his hand out. "Toss it over."

"I _said_ ," Kate asserted, putting emphasis on the word, "let him go."

Ganz stared at her for a long moment, before a wicked smirk creased his arrogant mug. "Fine." And then, without any warning, he pulled his leg back and kicked Royce out of the hovering chopper.

"NO!" Kate screamed, watching helplessly as Royce tumbled through the swirling wind and rain, disappearing into the abyss below. She dropped to her knees as her anguish consumed her, letting the chalice fall from her hands. Tears immediately ran down her cheeks, paving pathways through the dirt and grime that covered her skin. Her chest heaved as she felt her heart burst with agony. Channeling her grief into rage, she glared across the distance at the man responsible for causing it.

Ganz gripped the handhold as the chopper jerked violently in the storm. He twisted around to shout at the pilot. There seemed to be a brief argument between the two before the rotors tilted and the helicopter started to move closer to the ledge.

Sensing what he was after, Kate grabbed the chalice and carefully tucked it back into her messenger bag. She wasn't going to allow Mike Royce's sacrifice to be in vain. Slinging it back over her shoulder, she locked the straps in place, and stood up defiantly. The monastery was falling apart behind her, the flames consuming the ancient wood with gusto. Momentarily suppressing her grief, she arched her neck up and took in the intensifying storm. She closed her eyes, and lowered her hands to her waist.

"Don't be a fool, Kate!" Ganz shouted.

Opening her eyes, she gazed at him with fierce determination and a flash of hatred. And then she was off, digging the balls of her feet into the crumbling ground beneath her, Kate pumped her legs and ran forward, rushing toward the edge of the cliff. With one final push, she jumped, hoping and praying momentum would carry her the rest of the way. She was taking a big risk, but with Royce gone, she didn't really have much left to lose.

Ganz let out a startled curse as she collided with him inside the passenger compartment of the helicopter, just barely making the jump. She gritted her teeth and held on. Ganz tried to shove her off, but she latched on, kicking and punching, sending the larger man stumbling backwards into the bulkhead. He hit his head and let out a groan of pain, slumping to the compartment's metal floor. The helicopter pilot turned to watch the struggle, just as surprised at her actions as his boss was. The chopper shook as the storm hit it with turbulence. Alarm klaxons blared. And red lights flashed in warning.

Using all her last residual strength, Kate pushed off Ganz, and crawled across the shaking passenger bed until she could grab one of the black parachute bags hanging on the bulkhead behind the pilot's seat. Ganz fumbled after her as the helicopter bounced violently in the choppy wind, grabbing at her arm, attempting to yank her back. With a quick jab of her elbow to his solar plexus, she got him off her, and then she spun around, lifting her climbing pick. With one swift move, she stabbed the point into his meaty shoulder. Ganz howled in pain. Gritting her teeth, she twisted the point around in his flesh before withdrawing and clipping it back onto her belt loop.

Kate pulled the straps of the parachute over her shoulders and locked them in place. She gave Ganz one last glance before holding her messenger bag close to her chest with one hand and diving out over the helicopter.

* * *

 _2010 – Location: New York City_

* * *

Kate Beckett woke with a start, gasping for breath. She blinked her eyes and swallowed thickly as her heart pumped wildly beneath her breast. Her hands were shaking and her brow was beaded in sweat. She sat up, hugging her legs into her chest, slowly rocking back and forth as she worked at taking deep, calming breaths. It had been nearly seven years, yet the events of those grueling few days were still fresh and vivid in her mind.

Closing her eyes, she breathed through her nose, following the steps her therapist had coached her with for when these anxiety attacks hit. It took her a couple minutes, but eventually her heart settled and her breathing returned to normal. Squeezing her arms around her legs, she rested her chin on top of her knees and stared out at her bedroom, illuminated by the pale moonlight that filtered through the window slats.

A shiver ran up her spine a moment later, and it was then that Kate realized just how cold it was. Climbing out of the bed, she padded across to the dresser, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old Stanford sweatshirt. Crawling back onto the mattress, Kate adjusted the covers around her, and snuggled into the warmth, trying to block out the images from her nightmares. She was just beginning to fall asleep again when the shrill ring of her cellphone broke through the comforting silence of the bedroom.

Groaning, Kate sat up and stretched out to snatch the offending device off her nightstand. She slid her thumb across the screen and answered.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" she grumbled, scrubbing a hand down her face. When all she heard was heavy breathing, she pulled the phone back to check the caller ID. The screen read: _Caller Unknown_. Holding the cell back to her ear, she listened to what sound like heavy footsteps running through an echoing chamber. "Hello?" she tried again.

" _God, it's good to hear your voice_ ," came a gravelly voice.

"Mike?" she gasped out, nearly a sob, shocked and stunned. This couldn't be real. Mike Royce had died seven years ago when Russell Ganz had pushed him out of a helicopter. She'd seen him fall into the abyss. He… he'd been dead.

" _It's me, kid_ ," he breathed out, voice heavy with apology. " _Look, I don't have time to explain, I wish I did, but I don't. I'm so sorry, Kate. I never meant for any of this to happen. I wanted…_ "

"Royce!" she cut him off, nearly shouting his name. "This can't be happening. This… this has got to be a dream."

" _I'm sorry, kid, it's not. This is very much real_."

"But… I searched for days! All over that damn island!" she let out a heart-wrenching sob. "God, Mike… I was in love with you."

He released a heavy sigh. " _I know, kid, and I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you_. _But it was a sacrifice I had to make_."

"I know all about sacrifice, Mike," Kate asserted. "More than most."

" _No, kid. You know about loss. Sacrifice is a choice you make. Loss is a choice made for you."_

She pursed her lips and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Why now?"

" _Because I found something_ ," he asserted. " _I know letting you think I was dead was wrong, but I still had to do right by you, Kate. Especially after what happened in Santorini_."

"Mike, please… don't do this," she all but sobbed.

" _I'm sorry, kid_ ," he spoke softly, his gravelly voice warm and sincere. " _I just had to hear your voice one last time befor—"_

Royce was abruptly cut off by a gunshot. Followed by another, and another… and then silence. Kate clutched the phone to her chest and sobbed, weeping once again for a man whom she'd thought had died long ago.


	2. Chapter 1

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

* * *

 _Location: Remote Island in the Aegean Sea_

* * *

The waves crashed against the rocky shore, roaring like some ancient mythological sea monster. A lone figure stood out on a solitary rock, face and form cloaked in a dark hooded jacket. A damp mist clung in the air, making it heavy and moist. The wisps of long brunette tresses strayed out from the confines of the hood, caught up in a strong gust of wind. The sky above was dark and overcast, reflecting the mood of the watcher.

Mike Royce was dead.

Again.

Seven years ago, Kate Beckett had stood on this very spot and mourned for the man who had been more than a mentor and friend. He had been so much more. He had been everything to her. She had been in love with him. He had loved her too, in his own way, yet not necessarily in the way she had wished. It was not true love with him—or really with her, if she was honest with herself. But it had still been real. It had still made her feel.

Seven years.

Kate released her breath on a heavy sigh.

After all that time, she thought she'd been able to move on. Revenge had been hers. It had taken a long week of hardship and struggle, battling not only the elements, but also a band of ruthless mercenaries, but Kate Beckett had survived this damn island and the death of Mike Royce.

But now she knew the terrible truth. He'd been alive. All this time, he had been living and breathing, working on God knows what. He called her out of the blue in the middle of the might, an apology on in his gravelly voice and a vague hint of something uncovered. Something that was dangerous enough to finally end him.

Mike Royce was dead.

Though this time, it was real. This time there was a body as proof. But instead of some remote island in the Aegean Sea, he was found in a seemingly abandoned warehouse in Queens. From what the police could gather, it looked like it had been an unevenly matched shootout. Evidence collected from the crime scene suggested the warehouse had been used to hold smuggled antiquities. Large pallets and empty crates stood as testament to that fact.

From her contacts within the NYPD, Kate learned that the authorities believed the entire incident had been a result of a deal between rival smugglers gone bad. And, at present, there were no leads. The case had turned cold within two weeks, and had since been set aside for more urgent and current cases.

It was left to Kate to pick up where the homicide investigators had left off. And her first stop was where it all began.

Mike Royce was dead.

And she was once again thrust into a quest for revenge.

But before that, she needed to say goodbye. Cradling the ceramic urn, which held the ashes of her deceased mentor, Kate Beckett said her final farewells.

XXX

She hiked quietly through the forested terrain, lost in her thoughts. The dry pathway of tears down her cheeks were the only evidence remaining of her mourning. She sniffled, and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. Her heart felt heavy, her chest empty. Despite all the time and distance between that fateful three weeks almost seven years ago, it was still fresh in her mind—The unexpected find in Santorini and the kiss that led to a wonderful respite from their hunt. Royce had said it had been a mistake. That it had been wrong of him to take advantage of her vulnerability. But she had still loved him. She'd loved him willingly, and without force. And it had been wonderful.

And then they came here, to this damn island. Russell Ganz and his thugs had beaten them there. Kate and Royce had been separated, and she'd had to find her way alone to the monastery on top of the cliff. Her initial elation at finding the Chalice of King Minos had soon evaporated when the hidden mercenary had attacked her. He'd knocked her off balance, sliced at her with his knife, cutting her arm and the skin along her upper brow. Then he had drawn his gun on her. She wrestle with him for control, and somehow she managed to gain the upper hand long enough to shoot him in the face at point blank range.

If only that had been the worst of it.

What followed next had become the second worst week in her life.

Shaking her head, Kate pulled herself out of her memories of those awful few days. It was the past. She'd moved on. She'd turned her determination into becoming the best retrieval specialist she could, as a way of honoring the man who had took her under his wing and mentored. She had even found a small amount of closure from a deeply personal case. She'd thought it had all been over. But apparently it wasn't. In his call, Royce had said he found something. But what? What could he have possibly uncovered that was so dangerous it would get him killed? Whatever it was, it had to be something that was of great importance to her personally. That was the only logical reason she could come up with for his deception.

Even now, a month after the fact, Royce's last words still haunted her. He'd been vague, no doubt conscious of the villains chasing after him, but she knew him well enough to know there was only one thing that would make him reach out to her after so long.

 _No, kid. You know about loss. Sacrifice is a choice you make. Loss is a choice made for you._

He was right. At the time she had only known loss. But now she knew the price one had to pay for justice… for revenge.

Stepping up the low ridge, Kate paused at the crest, breathing in deeply as she took in the splendor of the ancient ruins in the small mountainous valley before her. The fire Ganz and his goons had set had damaged a good portion of the historic site, but enough of it remained to allow for a proper archeological excavation. She stared down at the team of diggers, laboring hard to finish their task before the storm swept in. They were hoping to uncover more caches of ancient artifacts buried beneath the rubble of the ancient village. She could just about make out Professor Smith and his students stringing up a grid in the northeastern quadrant of the village.

Checking her wristwatch, Kate sighed. If she wanted to reach the dock in time to catch the resupply ship back to the mainland she wouldn't be able to stop and properly thank the professor for his generosity in facilitating her return to the island by allowing her passage on his supply ship. She pursed her lips, and brushed back some stray strands of hair. He'd understand. She had done what she'd come to do. It was time to go home.

* * *

 _Location: First Press Offices, New York City_

* * *

A story. Yes. That's what he needed. A new story.

Richard Castle glanced out the side window of his office at the towering skyscrapers of New York City. The tall, gleaming façades did nothing to inspire. And he needed to be inspired. With a sigh, he rocked back in his chair and turned his gaze away from the astonishing view his seldom used office provided. He could not even remember the last time he had even come into the office, let alone sat behind his desk. The whole place looked sterile and unimaginative. Which was why he preferred to spend most—if not all—of his time in the field.

His eyes flicked over to the two Pulitzers adorning the interior wall. The last one had been awarded to him two years prior, a result of his exposé on the blood diamond conflict in the Congo. He'd spent almost half a year embedded in country, in dangerous territory, at one point he'd even been held hostage by a warlord. Yet he had persevered, and his determination had paid off. His article had not only informed the public, but had also opened some eyes in the halls of power. _First Press_ loved the notoriety the exposé brought the paper.

However, since then, none of his work had been on anything quite so substantial or, if he was honest with him, sensational. And now his editor wanted another prize contending exposé from him. It wasn't like the top news magazine in the country was struggling for readers—or dollars, for that matter—but the potential publicity of having a three-time Pulitzer Prize winning journalist on staff was too much of a temptation.

It didn't help matters that his editor was also his ex-wife, Gina Cowell. At the time, he'd thought it had been the perfect match. They made sense on paper, the prize-winning journalist and his editor, but in reality, it just didn't work. It was quite possibly one of the worse decisions he'd ever made. She was so ruthless when it came to the business side of their relationship, he often wondered what he'd ever seen in her that made him even think a marriage would work between them.

The only reason he'd come in today was because Gina had called him, demanding a meeting to discuss his next story. A meeting that had since become delayed. And wanting to find somewhere quiet where he could just sit and wait in peace, he had searched out the office he had hardly ever used.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Castle straightened up in the chair and pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag, placing it down on the desktop. He hummed lightly to himself while it booted up, checking his Twitter feed on his iPhone 4. The model wasn't even due to be released for another two months, but he had made friends in high places at Apple, so he'd managed to get himself the latest version ahead of schedule. It was one of the few perks of his celebrity status he didn't mind taking advantage of.

Once his laptop was on, he connected to the office Wi-Fi network, and opened the web browser. Usually when he was stuck on ideas, he'd just surf the internet looking for anything interesting. There were still some articles on Mount Eyjafjallajökull that were pretty interesting. Also, there had been an oil platform explosion off the coast of Louisiana. Going back a month, he found an online article on the _First Press_ website about the Kasubi Tombs, Uganda's only cultural World Heritage Site, being destroyed by a fire. He noted that Alex Conrad, a relatively new addition to the _First Press_ writing staff, had been the one to write it. He vaguely remembered being introduced to the younger journalist when he'd popped into the office to a drop of some pages for Gina to edit.

After skimming through the article, he moved on, searching for something different. Eventually he stumbled upon an online article by an NYU student about the infamous Blue Butterfly necklace. At first, he was going to click the back button, but then he saw a photo of the blue diamond encrusted necklace—easily worth a million dollars—his attention was piqued.

The necklace had disappeared sometime in the 1940s. Rumors persisted through the years that it had been hidden somewhere in the Pennybaker Club. At some point in the late 1990s, a lawyer had disproved that theory, and claimed to know where it really was hidden, but before she could tell anyone, she'd been killed under suspicious circumstances. According to the student's article, the police had attributed the lawyer's death to just another random act of gang violence, which wasn't surprising considering her body had been discovered in an alley up in Washington Heights.

He read on, thoroughly engrossed in the mystery.

In 2008 the Blue Butterfly necklace was recovered by a retrieval specialist—a polite way of saying treasure hunter—and was now currently on display at the Smithsonian Museum of American History. There had been some doubts about the authenticity of the artifact, but nothing concrete was discovered to prove it either way. Accompanying this section of the online article was a photo of a woman holding up the infamous necklace with a quote in the caption the read: " _Finding the Blue Butterfly has been the fulfillment of a personal quest_." The notion of a female treasure hunter sparked his interest. Castle found his gaze riveted, not on the artifact, but on the woman. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her smile was dazzling, but Castle couldn't help but notice that her eyes looked sad. He instantly wanted to know her story.

Scrolling down the page, Castle searched the article for a name to go along with the photo. He glanced over the citations at the end. Finding nothing, he returned to the start and hurriedly worked his way back down to the three paragraphs detailing the retrieval of the Blue Butterfly necklace. And there it was— _Kate Beckett_.

Castle flicked his eyes back to the photo. "Kate Beckett," her name rolled off his tongue with ease, and his lips tugged upward almost involuntary at the sound of it. It was a good name. A strong name.

He was disturbed from his ruminations by a sharp knock on the doorjamb. Glancing up, he saw Sally, Gina's assistant, leaning through the doorway. "Yes?"

"She's ready for you now," she said.

"Alright," he bobbed his head, whipping out his Moleskine notepad from the inside pocket of his jacket and hastily scrawling Kate Beckett's name down. "I'll be right there." When he stood up, it was with a smile on his lips. If everything went according to plan, he'd just found his next big story. "Watch out, Kate Beckett," he murmured to himself. "I'm going to make you famous!"


	3. Chapter 2

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

* * *

 _Location:_ _JFK International Airport_

* * *

The terminal was busy. She weaved her way with ease through the other harried and flustered passengers. Her return flight from Athens had just touch down twenty minutes ago and she couldn't waste any time. She needed to get right on this case as if it was any other case she worked. Except this time she was investigating the murder of her friend and mentor instead of tracking down some rare and lost artifact.

Hiking the strap of her trusty messenger bag up more securely on her shoulder, she picked up the pace. Unlike her fellow passengers, she didn't need to wait at baggage claim. Her trip overseas had been a simple one, with one objective—to say goodbye to Mike Royce. Her grief spent, it was time for action.

Kate Beckett needed answers. And she needed them now. But she couldn't just march in and demand to see all the evidence. No. That would not get her anywhere. She needed a subtler approach. Fortunately for her, she'd made several contacts within the NYPD during the course of her career as a retrieval specialist—she despised the moniker of 'treasure hunter'. She didn't hunt for treasure. She searched for artifacts of value and significance not for fame or glory but for the preservation of history and human knowledge. The few instances in which Kate worked for private collectors, she did so only if those individuals were the rightful owners or intended to loan out the artifact for display in a museum, where it could be seen and enjoyed by everyone.

At present, however, she had no client, save for herself. Kate was on a mission to discover what it was that was of such importance that it got her former mentor killed, and who it was that had done the terrible deed. With that in mind, Kate was determined to seek out the help of some friends in the New York Police Department's 12th Precinct.

During her plane flight back to the States, Kate had read through the autopsy report. She had called in a favor from a friend in the medical examiner's office to get a copy of the report emailed to her. Kate had managed to nearly memorize the report's findings by the time the flight had landed at JFK International Airport.

It had been a difficult task, but a necessary one.

Mike Royce had been far more than a mentor to her. He was the only one who had truly understood what drove her. He'd never condescended her with pity, always treating her like he would anyone else, first as a pupil and then as an equal. She had looked up to him, admired him. And… she had been in love with him. It had been a youthful, naïve kind of love, nothing like what she knew her parents had shared, but it had been love nonetheless. And those sort of feelings hardly ever leave, they may fade over time, but they always remained. Which was what made reviewing the autopsy report so difficult for her. It pained her that he had to die in such a manner, all alone, with just her confused voice on the other end of the phone. She wished…

Well, she wished things had been different.

But she couldn't change the past. She could only affect the future. And that's what she planned on doing.

She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sunlight as she stepped out of the airport. Ducking her head down, Kate dashed across to the line of taxis waiting at the curb. She climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address for the 12th Precinct. Leaning back against the seat, she raised a hand over her mouth to suppress a yawn. Glancing at her wristwatch—clunky and male, her father's—Kate sighed in frustration. The boys would just be clocking out by the time she arrived. After a brief internal argument, she leaned forward and gave the cabbie a change in destination.

Kate wanted to jump right into investigating, but she had to be realistic. She had just returned from a long flight from Europe, which she got little to no sleep on. And she was exhausted. She needed to eat and rest before diving into the case. Royce wouldn't want her running herself ragged. Hell, he'd probably disapprove of what she was planning, but she couldn't just sit around and do nothing.

Besides… everything would still be there in the morning.

* * *

 _Location: First Press Offices, New York City_

* * *

"What are you still doing here? I thought you hated this office."

Castle glanced up to see the slim silhouette of his ex-wife in the doorway to his office. She was dressed in a sparkly golden white cocktail dressed that hugged her figure to perfection. He sat back in his chair, and stared back at her with a somewhat annoyed expression.

"Hot date?" he questioned, making an exaggerated gesture to indicate her fancy wear.

"Jealous?"  
"Me, jealous!? Ha!" he laughed, dramatically placing a hand on his chest and tilting his head. "Double 'Ha'!"

Gina scrunched up her face in irritation, knowing him well enough to know he was just making fun of her. Whatever romantic feelings they'd once shared had long since been dead. Their last coupling had purely been the fulfillment of physical needs, for both of them. Though, truth be told, sex with Gina had never been completely satisfying, at least emotionally. A lot of that simply had to do with the fact neither of them really truly ever loved one another. Both had been looking for something different in their relationship, which had eventually led to several fights. And then after a year and a half of marriage, they filed for divorce, which, ironically, had been one of the few things about their marriage they had actually agreed on.

"Shouldn't you be off in some seedy pub or lost in the some dark jungle pursuing a new story?" Gina asked, crossing her arms and giving him one of her bossy stares. "It's strange enough having you in the same city, let alone the same office building."

The feeling was mutual. Despite the occasional no-strings hook up, there was a reason they never got back together. Castle slowly stood up from his chair, trailing his fingers along the edge of his desk as he walked around it to join her at the doorway, dragging out the silence just to mess with her. "What if I told you I've already got a story," he said, and then added, "and it's a good one."

Gina harrumphed and rolled her eyes. "Are you still on about this female Indiana Jones?"

He nodded.

Gina laughed lightly. He gave her a confused look, and she raised a hand in apology and shook her head. "Oh, I'm sorry," she smirked, amused. "When you came to me with the idea on Monday I thought you were joking."

"No, no joke," Castle asserted, stepping back to his desk and picking up a printout of the article with Kate Beckett's picture. He handed it to Gina, who skimmed through the NYU student article. "She's very much real. And when she's not globetrotting in search of ancient artifacts, she lives right here in New York."

"And I'm supposed to assume you didn't notice how attractive this… Kate Beckett is?" Gina inquired with a dry look.

He grinned mischievously. "Just a bonus for me, I guess."

"Fine." Gina slapped the printout against his chest. "Whatever floats your boat, Richard," she huffed. "She better be worth it. Just don't sleep with her until you've got a story." With that, she turned and made her leave, sauntering towards the elevator, adding a little extra sway to her hips.

 _Who's the jealous one now_ , he thought with a grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Castle called after her, before ducking back inside his office.

He walked back around his desk, reaching down to leaf through the papers he'd printed out, still trying to discover the best way to make the lovely treasure hunter's acquaintance. He was just about to pick up his cell to ring an old friend within the DMV when the device buzzed in his hand.

"Go for Castle," he answered with a smirk. "Ah… Detective Ryan, thanks for returning my call. Are you just getting off work?" He listened to the man's reply as he packed up his laptop and notebook. "Could I persuade you into a round at the Old Haunt? I've got an idea for a new story, and I could use your help tracking down a source."

* * *

 _Location: Dig Site in Iceland_

* * *

It was cold. Damn cold.

He had to bundle up in several layers just to make the trek across the basecamp to the dig site and the caves. He followed the two graduate students the professor had sent for him. He listened to them jabber away in German, falsely believing he was an arrogant American that expected everyone to speak English. Even if he didn't speak their language, their excitement was quite evident. Whatever Professor Jaeger had found, it was huge… big enough for the man to have him send two of his students to wake up his benefactor's representative in the middle of the night.

The terrain around the mountainside was barren. Patches of snow blanketed the hard ground. Earlier in the week, the workers had set up a series of canvas tents around the dig sites, hoping to preserve the Viking relics being uncovered in the hard earth. He followed the graduate students down a plank into a trench dug by the excavators early into the dig. They took several turns until they reached the central dig tent. One of the students held the flap open for him, and he ducked his head, entering the dimly lit interior. Battery powered lanterns hung above them, swaying slightly from the wind outside buffering against the side of the tent.

However, the canvas material did little to keep out the chill.

Professor Jaeger was hunched over a table full of tools, quickly packing them into a backpack. He turned his head when he heard the tent flap slap shut. "Ah, _Herr_ Lockwood," he smiled through his German accent. "Good for you to join me."

"This better be important, Professor," Lockwood grumbled, irritably. "It's the middle of the night. And it's as cold as hell!"

The professor laughed at that. "I never understood that phrase," he guffawed, continuing his packing. "Hell is supposed to be hot, not cold. _Ja_?"

"Professor," Lockwood scowled.

"Yes, yes," Professor Jaeger bobbed his head. "We found something. Come, I must show you." He gestured towards a stack of flashlights. "Grab a torch, we're heading into the caves."

Lockwood grumbled, but grabbed one of the offered flashlights as the professor shouldered his backpack and pulled the hood of his orange parka up over his head. The two graduate students stayed behind as the professor led the way out of the tent. They hiked through the snow covered mountain slope until they reached the giant maw of a large cave. The ice had frozen over the top ceiling of the cavern, making it glister like crystal when Lockwood shined the flashlight upwards.

"This way," Professor Jaeger waved him forward, and together the two of them entered the dark.

They went deep into the mountain, following mostly a straight path. Lockwood paid special attention, not wanting to get lost in case he needed to find his way back out by himself. Jaeger was humming to himself, clearly eager to return to the site that had him so excited so late at night.

Finally, after another twenty minutes, they arrived at a seemingly dead end. Professor Jaeger had remained chipper the whole way, which annoyed Lockwood to no end. He was grateful they'd finally arrived at the location of this supposedly huge discovered.

"So, what is it?" Lockwood questioned, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

"This, _Herr_ Lockwood," Professor Jaeger enthused, shining his flashlight up into the ice covered rock wall.

Lockwood squinted his eyes, trying to see what it was that the professor was pointing at. He could barely make out the Nordic runes through the wall of ice, but there was clearly some ancient stone tablet embedded in the wall.

"I don't get it," he huffed. "It's just some old piece of stone covered in ice."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, _Herr_ Lockwood," Jaeger assured him. "Come here, see…," he pointed a gloved hand towards the top of the obscured object. "It's an eels head?"

"So?"

"A colleague of mine in South America found a similar stone tablet amongst the ruins of Tikal," he said. "But instead of Nordic runes, it was covered in Mayan pictograms."

"And… you believe they are connected?" Lockwood asked, somewhat skeptical.

" _Ja_ … yes, I do believe so," nodded the professor. "Furthermore, your employer should be most pleased. This tablet is just the sort of thing he would be interested in."

"How's that?"

"Atlantis, _Herr_ Lockwood," Jaeger said with a wide smile. "The mythical city mentioned by Plato in his works _Timaeus_ and _Critias_."

Lockwood smirked. "Thank you, Professor," he said in a cold voice, his breath misting in front of him. "That's all I needed to know."

"Uh?" Professor Jaeger glanced back towards him just in time to see him remove a pistol with a silencer attached to the barrel from a hidden pocket within his parka. "Wha—?"

Lockwood pulled the trigger before the man could finish his question. He double tapped the academic in the chest, and stood back as he fell to the rough cold ground dead. When the deed was done, Lockwood stuffed the pistol back inside his parka, and knelt beside the body. After resting the flashlight along the side of the wall, giving the space some minor illumination, he unzipped the professor's backpack. He removed the icepick and chisel.

Standing back up, he glared at the eel headed artifact buried beneath several feet of ice, and sighed. This would take some work. Perhaps he should have dispatched with Professor Jaeger after that archaeologist had freed the relic. He gave a shrug. It was a moot point at this juncture, so he might as well get started. And once he retrieved the ancient tablet, he could finally leave this place for good.

It was about time, too. He was tired of all the cold.


	4. Chapter 3

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3**_

* * *

 _Location: Old Haunt, New York City_

* * *

Castle saw his friend right away the moment he walked down the stairs and stepped through the door. The young detective was easy to spot. With his bright blue eyes and clean-cut face, Kevin Ryan stood right out, almost looking like a kid in comparison to the drab and older patrons of the Old Haunt. Castle had grown quite fond of the place over the years. He'd even written the majority of his first Pulitzer winning exposé while tucked into one of the corner booths.

Once a former speakeasy, the bar had managed to retain its history and character into the modern era—from the original wood crown molding to the brass handlebar along the counter. The dark rosewood paneled walls were decorated with numerous candid photos of writers who had frequented the watering hole.

Castle wasn't too ashamed to admit he was amongst them. He had considered it an honor when the owner had asked if he could take a picture. As a result the Old Haunt would always hold a special place in Rick Castle's heart. Though, as he appraised the long face of one of the men at the bar, he had to admit the clientele wasn't like it used to be. The place had fallen on hard times, to be sure. Castle considered speaking with the current owner, and seeing if there was some way he could help.

"Evening, Mr. Castle," the bartender greeted with a cheerful smile. "What'd you have?"

"Hi, Danny. I'll have the usual," Castle replied, resting his elbow against the surface of the bar as he leaned forward, glancing around to take in the early evening crowd. The place had definitely seen better days, that's for sure.

Danny poured him a generous glass of a fine scotch. Accepting the glass tumbler with a smile, Castle took a small sip before turning around and walking over to join Ryan in a booth. As he slid into the comfy leather seat, he noticed his friend was nursing a bottle of Guinness. He chuckled, catching the younger man's attention.

Ryan glanced up with a perplexed expression. "What?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Sorry, Kevin," Castle shook his head and held up a hand in apology as he deposited his sling bag next to him on the seat. "Just… kind of stereotypical of you, isn't it?" He gestured towards the bottle of Guinness in the younger man's hands.

"Oh, Ryan smirked, and bobbed his head, offering a weak laugh. "Yeah. Can't let the family down, now can I?"

"Too true," Castle inclined his head and took another small sip of his scotch, relishing the burn as he swallowed.

Ryan took another swig from his bottle of beer, his gaze unfocused, distracted.

Castle knitted his eyebrows together. "Everything okay, buddy?"

His friend offered a shrug. "Just a tough day," was all he would say.

"Right," Castle said, knowing not to push. "Then I'll make this as brief as possible, so you can get home to Jenny."

Bright blue eyes flicked up to his. "How… how'd you know?" Ryan fumbled in surprise. "Hell, I haven't even told my partner yet."

"Just pure and simple deduction, my friend," Castle supplied with a knowing grin. "I could tell you were sweet on her from the last time we spoke. Though, I'd wager you are a lot more than just _sweet_ on her now."

Ryan smiled a truly beaming smile, his happiness almost infectious. "She's amazing, Rick," he gushed. "Everything I could have wished and hoped for." His eyes flirted down for a moment, and he played with the bottle in his hands. "I think she's the one." He looked back up, and Castle could see the truth of it in his eyes. "She's it for me."

"Then cheers to that," Castle held up his glass, and his friend smiled, holding up his bottle of Guinness.

"So, what was it you wanted to ask me?" Ryan asked after they had both taken a sip of their respective drinks. He rested his elbows on the table's surface. "Something about a new source?"

"Something like that, yeah," Castle said, shifting in his seat so he could open the flap of his sling bag and retrieve the printout of the NYU student article on the Blue Butterfly. "Have you ever heard of the Blue Butterfly?"

"Oh yeah," Ryan bobbed his head, accepting the printout. "It came up in a case we worked with an insurance retrieval specialist named—"

"Kate Beckett," Castle finished with a delighted grin.

"Um… yeah, how'd you know?" Ryan inquired, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Castle stretched over to point at the picture of Kate Beckett holding up the Blue Butterfly necklace, indicating the caption that provided her name. "How often do you work with her?" he asked.

"Beckett?" Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Um… from time to time, I guess. Not too often since I'm in homicide. When she does pop in to speak with the captain, it usually has to deal with a robbery case. She did go to the Academy, but I never worked with her. Though, my partner was on the force at the time. They were paired off as rookies for a handful of patrols and guard details. He said she was a solid cop, knew what she was doing, had the drive and motivation to see it done. A lot more so than some of the other rookies in their group."

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Ryan shrugged. He glanced down introspectively and shook his head before continuing, "Espo's still baffled that she resigned after only one year on the job. Though…," he leaned in conspiratorially. Castle did as well, eager to hear more, "we sort of suspect it had something to do with her training officer, Mike Royce. Espo thinks she had a major crush on him, and when he took early retirement to pick up treasure hunting, she followed him."

"Oh," Castle leaned back, feeling somewhat crestfallen. He didn't know why he felt so disappointed to learn she might be involved with someone, but he did. It wasn't like he was planning on doing anything. Okay, not true. He'd probably would have tried and get into her pants. But not now. Not if she was involved with someone else. Castle wasn't the kind to go after a woman if she was taken. He knew the sting of that kind of betrayal all to well, and he loathed the very idea of being party to such entanglements. "So are they still… _together_?"

"Well, I don't think they ever really got together like that," Ryan answered with a puzzled expression, as if he was surprised and confused by the meaning behind the question. "She was seeing a robbery detective for a while, though. Tom… Tom Demming, I believe his name was. But that didn't last too long." Ryan sighed, and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck. "She's had a rough go of it," he continued. "But she's the best at what she does. Wicked smart, too. She'd probably be one of the best detectives in the department if she hadn't resigned so early into her law enforcement career."

Castle inclined his head in acknowledgement of the offered information, and took a long gulp of his scotch, pursing his lips together and letting out a slight hiss at the burn as the liquid traveled down his throat.

"Anyway," Ryan shook his head after taking another quick swig from his beer bottle. "Why the interest?"

"I think it would be obvious," Castle said with a half-smirk, eyes wrinkling in amusement. He tapped the printout again. "You see that quote."

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, I remember when we wrapped that case up. I could see the weight just lift off her shoulders."

Castle hummed in response. "Well, just from what little I've read, I find her fascinating," he asserted.

"Look, Rick, I don't know if it's—"

Castle leaned forward. "I need to know her story, Ryan," Castle insisted. "I'll call in all the favors I have to, but I need to meet her. Please, man… you've got to hook us up?"

"Hook you up!?" echoed Ryan, nearly hooting in alarm. "Jesus, Rick… I'm your friend, yes, but I'm not helping you get into her pants to satisfy one of your boyish whims."

Castle held up his hand to stop his friend. "Sorry, wrong word usage," he said, cringing slightly. "I just meant I'd be grateful if you could set up a meeting. I think her story is quite compelling, and I think it would really make a good article."

"Oh," Ryan gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry. I guess I just assumed. Last time I helped you with a source, you ended up taking her to Atlantic City for the weekend."

Castle smirked. "And a memorable weekend it was," he said. "But that's in the past."

"That was a two years ago," Ryan frowned, looking askance.

" _In the past_ ," Castle insisted with a firm voice, stressing his word. "If you remember, I'd just gotten divorced."

"Oh yeah," Ryan said. "Your blood sucking editor, right?"

"Still my blood sucking editor," Castle said with a grimace.

"Oh the hell do you manage that?"

"With great patience," Castle answered after a deep breath.

They both drank to that.

"All right," Ryan said at length, finishing off his beer and getting ready to stand. "I'll see what I can do. But I'm making no promises."

"Anything you can do will be helpful, Ryan," Castle said. "And you have my word, my intentions are pure, and my motivation is solely on the story. I'll be the perfect gentleman."

Ryan hesitated, mouth open, a dubious expression on his face. But whatever reservations he might have had, he kept them to himself. "I'll give you a call when… um… I'll just give you a call, okay?"

"Thanks, Kevin," Castle said, earnestly. "It really means a lot. Truly. And don't worry about the bill," he added, gesturing to the empty Guinness bottle. "My treat."

"Thanks, Castle," Ryan patted him on the shoulder, before nodding farewell and making his leave.

Castle watched him go with a hopeful feeling in his chest. Ryan was a good man. And he knew he'd come through for him. He understood the young detective's reservations about his intentions. Castle's track record wasn't exactly angelic. But this time it was different. At least that's what he kept telling himself. To be honest, however, he wouldn't be opposed to the idea of an encounter with the beautiful female retrieval specialist turning delightfully physical. He needed something new and exciting in his life. Something challenging. But nothing like that. Not really.

If anything like that developed between him and Kate Beckett after they met, then it would have to be natural and very much mutual.

In the past Castle may have got a thrill out of bedding women during the course of researching a story, but at this juncture in his life—especially after his disastrous marriage to his editor Gina Cowell—what he really wanted was something real. But he wasn't really looking for a relationship. He liked his single lifestyle very much. But if something happened with Kate Beckett, then it happened. And if it didn't happen, then it didn't. He wasn't going to force anything.

Though, he grinned wickedly to himself as he finished off his scotch, that wouldn't stop him from flirting his ass off.

* * *

 _Location: Beckett's_ _Loft, New York City_

* * *

She inserted the key and turned it slowly, listening as the deadbolt snapped back into place. Gripping the handle, she pushed the door open and entered her cozy Tribeca apartment. With the money she made as a retrieval specialist, Kate could afford a larger and more spacious apartment, but that would not have been her. Cozy was better in her opinion. When she returned home from an expedition or job, she wanted to relax. And that is what her moderately sized New York apartment gave her.

A sigh of relief left her lips as she closed the door behind her. It was good to be home. She turned and dumped her keys into the colorful ceramic bowl sitting on top a small end table besides a display holding a large stone Buddha head, something she'd picked up while on a job in Tibet. The rest of the apartment was just as varied. The modern bohemian atmosphere she'd worked at building gave her a sense of comfort. Her eclectic mix of furniture and décor fit her personality and made the place seem more like home than it already did.

Little knickknacks and trinkets—either collected in the field or purchased at weekend trips to street markets and artisan fairs—dotted the nearly overstuffed bookshelves and the various other flat spaces around the living room. A little parade of elephants, once her mother's, sat alone in a place of honor on the credenza behind the comfy beige couch with mismatched pillows. A maroon and dark brown afghan laid across the back of the sofa, and her favorite Union Jack throw pillow rested along the couch arm. The coffee table held numerous stacks of magazines, mainly archeologically and historically themed. But she did also have half a dozen—or more—fashion magazines as well. She even occasionally bought _First Press_ , namely for their in-depth and comprehensive exposés.

Kate paused in the foyer, and placed a hand on top of the Buddha's head to steady herself as she reached down to tug off her boots. Letting out a sinful sigh of relief, she wiggled her sock covered toes against the cool hardwood floorboards before padding into her kitchen. She dumped her leather messenger bag on the island counter and stepped over to the refrigerator, opening it and snatching a water bottle from within. Unscrewing the cap, she took a long swig of the chilled liquid and let out yet another sigh of relief.

It was good to be home.

Her heart was still heavy with the sorrow of once again having to say goodbye to her mentor and one-time lover, but being home made her feel just a tad bit better. She pulled out a package of oatmeal raisin cookies from the cupboard and began munching on them while going through her mail; Half of it was junk, two magazines, and one bill. After another deep gulp of water, Kate returned the plastic bottle to the refrigerator, and made her way to the bathroom, slowly stripping out of her clothes as she went.

She didn't care about leaving a trail of discarded jeans, a blouse, and undergarments across the floor. She was just glad to be home. And after a nearly 12 hour flight with an added two hour lay over in Paris, she desperately felt the need for a hot shower before she did anything else.

Oh… it was so good to be home.

Though, as Kate stepped under the hot spray, she suddenly got the sinking feeling that something unexpected was about to happen, something that would drastically change her life. She'd already lost Mike Royce—twice now—so she didn't know what it could be. Her gut was just telling her to keep an open eye for something. However she couldn't say whether it was something good or bad. She bit her lower lip as she contemplated the possibilities and turned around in the shower, letting the hot water cascade down her back as she reached for the cherry-scented shampoo.

Perhaps it was nothing.

After all, it was just a feeling.


	5. Chapter 4

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4**_

* * *

 _2010 – Location: 12_ _th_ _Precinct, New York City_

* * *

Rick Castle was a bundle of nerves as he rode up the elevator. The desk sergeant had given him a funny look when he'd walk into the 12th Precinct, declaring he had an appointment. The officer had politely asked his name, and then, after making a call upstairs, waved him through. Castle shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervously adjusting the sport coat he'd thrown on as he'd rushed out the door after the urgent text message from Detective Kevin Ryan.

 _She's here_.

The elevator bell chimed, announcing its arrival on the fourth floor. Castle jerked excitedly, stepping across the threshold and into the 12th precinct's homicide floor. He meandered around the waiting area, before walking over towards barrier that separated the elevator from the rest of the floor. Inclining his head, he peered through the metal latticework, catching his first glimpse of his subject. His heart quickened at the sight of her.

She was more strikingly beautiful in person. The photo in the student article had not done her justice. Not by a long shot. Her features were exquisite, with classic high cheekbones, and a strong jawline. Her long brunette hair cascaded down around her face, curling at the ends. She was dressed in dark blue jeans and a white blouse, a brown leather jacket over that. And it was hard not to miss the stylish high-heeled boots she wore. Simply put, she was perfect. She looked so out of place, yet at the same time she also appeared at home amongst the detectives and uniformed officers of the 12th precinct's homicide team.

At present, she was speaking with a Hispanic detective by his desk. He was standing behind his chair, and Kate Beckett was perched on the edge of the desk. Castle pursed his lips and tried to suppress the surge of—was it jealousy or envy?—at the apparent closeness between the pair as they ducked their heads together while they spoke in hushed tones. But before Castle could overanalyze his reaction, he was accosted by his friend.

"Oh, Castle… you made it," Kevin Ryan chirped happily, coming out of the break room with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Can I offer you a cup?"

Castle looked down at the bitter swill, and was soon reminded of the last time he'd tried a cup. It had tasted like a monkey had peed in battery acid. He quickly shook his head, and held up a hand to further reinforce his declining of the offer. Ryan merely shrugged and raised his cup to take a quick sip of his coffee. Castle took the opportunity to once again gaze out at Kate Beckett, mesmerized by her haunting good looks. Even though he'd seen her photo, and recognized her natural beauty, he had been unprepared for what she'd be like in the flesh.

"So…," Ryan drawled out the word. "Should I introduce you?"

XXX

Kate furrowed her brow as she listened to Esposito recount the particulars of the case, and how the FBI had swooped in and taken over. She offered him a sympathetic smile, remembering, even from her short time as rookie cop, how much it frustrated and annoyed the older detectives when federal agents came in and took a case away from them. There was a still a small part that yearned for the daily grind of police work. She'd enjoyed her time with the NYPD, despite how brief it was. But when Mike Royce had told her he had put in the papers for an early retirement, she'd been left with a hard decision to make.

Royce had been the only one who truly understood her, and she hadn't wanted to lose him. So, she took the rather bold move of giving up all she had worked for to join him in the retrieval business. It had been challenging, and not all of it had been easy, especially after the damned island. But all in all, she had no regrets. Not really. Sure, there were things she wished were different, but it didn't do to dwell on the past.

"I'm sorry about Mike, by the way," Esposito's sympathetic voice snapped her out of her thought. "He was a good cop in his day… and a good man."

She offered him a week smile, and placed a hand on his shoulder, thanking him for the solidarity. "Yes, Espo, he was."

Esposito inclined his head, and they shared a moment of silence in remembrance of their fallen comrade. Kate might no longer have been an officer, but she'd worn the badge—no matter how briefly—and to a man like Detective Javier Esposito that meant something.

"How was it going back?" he asked at length, giving her a curious look.

Kate shrugged. "I don't know. It felt strange. It's not entirely the same as it once was. I wasn't alone, for one thing. Professor Smith and his students were there. And there's now a ferry boat that runs back and forth between the island and the mainland bringing with it tourist." She sighed and carded her fingers through her long hair, tugging it back away from her face. "But if you're asking if it was worth the trip, then the answer would be yes. I might still have some questions about what happened—a lot of question, to be honest—but at least this time I was able to say a proper goodbye."

Her former colleague inclined his head in sympathetic understanding. "Well, if you need help with anything… anything at all, you ask me, okay?"

He got a smile for that. She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Okay," she accepted, her heart swelling with gratitude for Esposito's steadfast friendship and fierce loyalty. Kate dropped her head and frowned in thought, her eyebrows knitting together. "Actually," she asserted, glancing furtively about the homicide bullpen, before settling her gaze back on her friend. "There is something you could do."

"Name it," he offered, blindingly trusting.

However, before she could answer him, she was interrupted by the arrival of Esposito's partner. Kevin Ryan smiled politely, greeting her with a wave. She reciprocated the greeting. Though she'd never worked with the younger man during her time with the police force, she had in her current career as a retrieval specialist, and what she'd seen impressed her. He was diligent and highly capable, a credit to his Academy class, and a worthy addition to the team. His cheery personality was a nice counterbalance to Esposito's more cynical view. But today, Kevin Ryan appeared a little anxious.

"Hey, bro, what's up?" Esposito inquired.

"We have a visitor," Ryan hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "And he's very keen on meeting Beckett."

"Is that so?" Kate arched her neck to look around Ryan to spy a man lurking in the waiting area behind the metal latticework. He was tall, solidly built with broad shoulders that nicely filled out the suede leather blazer he wore. He had a strong brow and a jaw covered in stubble. The most striking thing about him was his eyes: Cobalt blue that sparked with a penetrating quality that she found very arresting.

"Why'd he want to meet Beckett?" Esposito asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

Kate folded her arms across her chest and gave him a pointed look.

He shrugged. "Hey, it's a legitimate question?"

Whoever the mystery man was, he'd obviously grown impatient waiting, because he was presently rounding the corner. He walked with a spring in his step, a smile spreading wide across his handsome face.

"Oh… Um… Kate this is—" Ryan began to introduce the man when he noticed his approach, but he was cut off when the man in question stepped around him to stand close to Kate.

"Rick Castle," he supplied, offering his hand.

Kate shifted her feet, and glanced down at his proffered hand, before accepting. There was an instant spark the moment their fingers touched. She tried to ignore it, but judging by the amazed look on Castle's face, he felt it too. He smiled, almost smugly, encasing her smaller hand in his larger one.

"Pleasure," she said in greeting, eternally grateful for her calm and steady voice.

"It most certainly is," he replied with a cheeky grin, holding her hand for a little longer than was strictly necessary. "Do you know you have gorgeous eyes?"  
She let out a light laugh and rolled her eyes. "You try that on all the girls, Mr. Castle?"

"No, just you," he grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows for effect before reaching up and brushing back a flop of unruly hair that had fallen down over his forehead. "And please, call me Rick."

She bit her lower lip as she appraised him with a critical eye. He was definitely a cocky one. Though he was clearly friends with Ryan, so she'd cut him some slack… at least for now.

"Right," she inclined her head, keeping their eyes locked. "What can I do for you, Mr. Castle?"

"Oh… oh… so many things," he replied with almost giddy expression, his eyes flicking up and down the length of her body.

Kate stifled an inward groan. "Right," she replied drily.

" _Castle_ ," Ryan interjected, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, a hint of warning in his tone. "You promised to behave."

Castle glanced towards his friend and held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "Sorry, I'm just excited, I can't help it."

"Why?" Kate asked, completely baffled as to the man's reaction to meeting her… well not all of it. She knew men found her attractive, but this man was clearly interested in more than just hitting on her.

"Does anyone here, besides Kevin, read _First Press_?" Castle inquired.

" _First_ what?" Esposito questioned, frowning. "Does it have sports in it?"

"Ha, no," Castle laughed, but then sobered upon the glare the other man gave him. "I mean, no… _First Press_ 's focus is on current events. Though we did run an exposé on concussions in the NFL a year or so ago."

Ryan shook his head. "It's not his kind of magazine, Castle."

Esposito harrumphed. "Like you actually read it, bro. I thought you hated those current events mags."

"Um…," Ryan glanced back and forth between the two men.

Kate had to suppress a laugh at seeing the man caught in the middle of his two friends. Though, amusing as it was, she decided to save him. "I thought I recognized the name," she said, easily catching Castle's attention. He glanced at her expectantly. "You're the one who wrote that article about the blood diamond conflict in the Congo."

"The one and only," Castle confirmed with a smug grin, puffing his chest out with pride. "Won a Pulitzer for that one."

"Did you now?" Kate quirked up an eyebrow, oddly enjoying the repartee. Her chest tightened at the thought. There was no logical reason for her to feel shame for appreciating the company of a man after her mentor's death. Excluding that one night in Santorini, she and Royce had never been together. But there was just something about this man and the brazen way he flirted with her that made her want to rise to the challenge.

Castle hummed in response. "Two actually," he informed her, holding up two fingers. He pursed his lips and glanced over at her with a wistful expression, gazing directly into her eyes. "And if everything works out, I might be well on my way to a third."

Try as she might, Kate couldn't deny the physical attraction between them. But her life was far too complicated to get mixed up with a guy like Richard Castle. Having been a long time _First Press_ reader, Kate knew his reputation. Rick Castle was notorious for seducing women while in the course of 'researching' a story. And though she hadn't been with anyone since she broken up with her boyfriend last year, that didn't mean she'd climb into bed with the first handsome man to catch her eye.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Esposito said when the conversation stalled while Kate and Castle had simply stared at each other in silence. "What your next story?"

"Yes, Mr. Castle, please… do tell," Kate goaded, smirking. Though when she looked back at the journalist, and she noticed the way he was looking at her, her smile dropped, and she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Castle stared directly into Kate's eyes and answered simply with one word, "You."

"Me?" she released a breathy chuckle, hardly believing what she was hearing.

"Yes, _you_ ," Castle stressed the word, staring at her intently. "I read about what happened on that island in the Aegean. What you went through, it must have been… terrible."

She swallowed heavily. "It was," she barely managed to reply.

Castle took a stepped closer, and lowered his voice, his expression earnest and sincere. "I write for a living. I tell other people's stories. But you… you've lived. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to tell yours."

Kate stared blankly at the journalist, speechless. Her mouth bobbed open and close, but no words came. Numerous questions bounced around in her head. Why would this man want to tell her story? What did he already know? Kate was a private person. She didn't want her entire life splashed across the pages of a magazine, even one as reputable and respected as _First Press_. There were a lot of dark things in her past that she'd rather stayed buried. And that was not even getting into the current mess.

She shook her head, silently cursing when she felt the beginning of tears in her eyes. Inhaling a quick breath, Kate took a step away from him, and raised her hands to hold him off. "No," she said, her cheeks burning when she heard the wavering quality of her voice.

"I'd be respectful," Castle insisted, pressing on. "I won't publish anything you don't want. I… I just think your story is worth telling. From what little I've read about the Blue Butterfly case… I… I can already say with absolute conviction that you're an extraordinary woman, worthy of both praise and exaltation."

"Blue Butterfly?" she gasped, eyes going wide. "How do you know about that?"

"Uh… I found it mentioned in a NYU student article I found online," Castle explained with a furrowed brow, his handsome features displaying puzzlement.

 _Oh God,_ she thought. Her heart clenched, and her entire body went tense. The case of the Blue Butterfly had been important to her. The case had taken up so much of her adult life; she'd been on a natural high after finally retrieving the missing necklace. In retrospect, she shouldn't have agreed to be interviewed for that student article. But the advising professor had been a former classmate from her time at Stanford, so she had done it as a favor to him. Kate hadn't expected much publicity from a small student article, so it had been an easy pitch.

This, however, was much different.

 _First Press_ was a highly regarded news magazine with an international readership. She couldn't handle the idea of having so many people getting a front row seat to her life.

Castle was looking at her expectantly. He looked so delighted and excited with the prospect of telling her story.

"Look, Mr. Castle, I don't know you," Kate said, proud of the firmness in her voice. "And I'm not sure I want you sticking your nose into my life. So… I'm sorry, but no." And before she could say or do anything else, she shoved past him and marched towards the elevator.

"Wait, Beckett!" Esposito hollered after her. "What about that favor you wanted to ask me about?"

Kate hesitated, glancing over her shoulder, brow furrowed with conflicting emotions. "I… I'll call you later, okay?"

And then she stepped into the opened elevator. The last thing she saw before the doors rattled shut behind her was a contrite looking Richard Castle. She didn't know why, but Kate hated disappointing him. But, she reasoned, it was for the best.

The Blue Butterfly was in the past. Nothing good could ever come from digging it back up.

Nothing.


	6. Chapter 5

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5**_

* * *

 _Location: Reykjavik, Iceland_

* * *

Hal Lockwood sat in the corner of some dark and dingy pub. Despite the interior heating, he was still freezing his ass off. He couldn't wait to get off this bloody island. He checked his wristwatch. He had been waiting for over an hour for his contact to show. The man was running late. Leaning his elbows against the rough flat surface of the table, Lockwood wrapped his fingers around the neck of the glass bottle. He grimaced as he took a quick swig of the beer he had eventually ordered. It was a local brew, made from wheat. He wasn't particularly fond of wheat beer, but it was better than the wheatgrass tea that bartender kept trying to peddle.

The door opened and a man entered, bringing with him the chill. Lockwood shivered, and tugged his jacket tighter against his frame. He reluctantly took another drink of the wheat beer, hoping the alcohol would help warm his insides. He watched as the newcomer went over to the counter. The annoying bartender once against pushed the wheatgrass tea. The man politely declined, and ordered a beer.

The newcomer turned around and leaned his back against the bar counter. He smiled in a friendly manner in Lockwood's direction, before raising his bottle and taking a sip of his beer. Lockwood ignored the man, and returned to his brooding. He was rapidly growing angry at the delay in his escape from the place. All he knew was that something had happened in New York City that caused the postponement.

Lockwood glanced up, surprised to find the smiling customer standing right in front of him.

"For you, ya?" the man said with a thick accent, holding out a small cellphone.

"No thank you," he replied curtly.

"You Lockwood, ya? You take, for you, ya?" the smiling man repeated, shoving the phone into Lockwood's hand. He smiled widely, and then returned to the bar and his waiting beer.

Frowning, Lockwood glared down at the small device, almost startling when it buzzed with a text message. Glancing around the nearly empty pub, before returning his attention to the phone. After a long internal debate, Lockwood opened the text message. When he saw a familiar coded phrase on the screen he released a breath of relief.

Finally.

Pocketing the small cellphone, Lockwood finished off his beer, and then stood up. He grabbed his rucksack, the eel headed artifact safely stowed away inside, and slung it over his shoulder. His orders had finally come through. He'd have to make one more stop, but he was finally going home.

* * *

 _Location: Disused Warehouse, Queens_

* * *

Kate Beckett sat in her car in the middle of the night, along a deserted street in Queens. According to Esposito, with the FBI taking over the case, mainly due to the connection to an international smuggling ring, the NYPD were only assisting with a security detail to keep watch over the property that held the countless rare pieces of art and antiquity. Finding those responsible for Royce's death wasn't particularly high on the Fed's priority list. So Beckett had to take matters into her own hands. First thing she needed to do was take a look at the scene of the crime. Her heart squeezed painfully at the reminder that it was also the place where Mike Royce had died. He deserved better than that.

She had parked several blocks away from the warehouse, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. It was a cloudless night. Winter had yet to recede, so the night air was still chilly. Beckett checked her wristwatch, and sighed. Ten more minutes. She shifted in her seat, and leaned her back against the headrest, letting her mind wander. She thought of Royce, and all the good times they'd had together. She thought of that night in Santorini where they had crossed that line into more than friendship.

In his phone call, Royce had expressed guilt for taking advantage of the situation. Beckett disagreed with that notion. She had been in love with him. It might not have been proper love, but at that age, it had been enough for her. And she had wanted him. He loved her too, she knew he did, but not like she had wanted. Beckett had come to accept that over time, but it still hurt. The one thing she'd always admired about her parents relationship was the unconditional love each had for the other. And she wanted that too.

Beckett knew now that Royce had never been that. But that didn't make it any less special.

Suddenly, seemingly out of the blue, thoughts of Richard Castle and the instant attraction she'd felt when the two of them had met sprung unbidden into her mind. Beckett didn't yet know what it meant, but she wasn't too proud to admit that it scared the hell out of her. The only other person she'd ever had such an instant reaction to had been Royce. And look how that turned out.

Shaking her head, trying to clear her mind of a ruggedly handsome journalist, and the ridiculous notion that he wanted to do a spread of her 'story' for _First Press_. If it weren't all so mortifying, she'd laugh.

Checking the time, she let out a sigh of relief. She quickly tied her long hair back away from her face and up into a high ponytail. Climbing out of the car, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and started walking down the street, staying hidden in the shadows. Dressed all in black, it wasn't too difficult to stay out of sight. If it hadn't been for the seriousness of her personal mission, she might have at least chuckled at how much she resembled the stereotypical notion of what a cat burglar looked like. The streetlamps let out a dim glow, not enough to illuminate much below. Beckett hurried along the dark sidewalk, making sure to keep a cautious eye out for anyone that might spot her.

When she was just a block away from her intended destination, she ducked into a dark alley between warehouses. Slipping around the corner, she came upon a neighboring building. On light footsteps, Beckett rushed over to a rusty metal door. Dropping down on one knee, she unzipped one of the utility pockets on her custom jacket, removing her lock picking tools. Beckett worked the lock with deft ease from years of experience. It was only a handful of seconds before the tumblers clicked into place and she was able to turn the bolt, unlocking the door.

Pocketing her equipment, she wiggled her fingers into a pair of black gloves, before reaching up to the door handle, and slowly pulling it up, mindful of the rusty hinges. With her careful pace, she managed to avoid any unwanted squeak.

Inside the building was dark. Unwilling to risk using her flashlight to illuminate her pathway through the darkness, Beckett paused, closing the door behind her, and leaning her back against it as she waited for her eyes to adjust. Once she could see the dingy hallway and peeling wallpaper, Beckett set forth. She walked down the hall, slow and careful, not wanting to make any noise that might alert the security personnel guarding the neighboring warehouse that contained stolen goods.

Up ahead a beam of light shot across the debris covered floor. Beckett ducked back, pressing herself against the side wall. She held her breath, and waited. She could hear the shuffle footsteps of a security guard. Tilting her head, she squinted in the blackness, watching for him. He appeared a moment later, middle age and overweight. He wore a uniform form for a private security firm. It appeared the information she'd received from Esposito that this building was abandoned had been mistaken. Of course, the neighboring crime scene might have had something to do with the increase in security.

The security guard ambled down the hall, flashlight in hand, aimlessly letting the beam of light pass over the floor. With each waddling step he got closer and closer to where Beckett was attempting to conceal herself in the darkness. She inhaled a deep breath, and slipped further away, momentarily worried she had triggered some silent alarm that had alerted security, resulting in them sending this man down to investigate. She rarely practiced breaking and entering, but for this job—finding out who killed her mentor and why—she was willing to break some of her own rules. Pursing her lips, she contemplated the prospect that she might have to physically subdue the security guard. It wouldn't be too difficult. The man was clearly out of shape.

But it didn't need to come to that.

Beckett let out a soft prayer of thanks.

The man stopped just a few feet in from the three-way junction he had appeared from. He held his free hand up over his mouth as he yawned. Tipping his cap back, he scratched at his balding scalp, before doing an about face and shuffling back the way he came.

She waited a few minutes after the security guard disappeared before continuing her journey through the abandoned building. She came up to the end of the hall where it broke off into two separate ways. She did a mental rechecked of the blueprints she'd reviewed earlier that evening, and then took a right. She moved quietly. Locating a door marked with a faded number in peeling black paint, Beckett slipped inside the stairwell. Pumping her legs, she dashed up the stairs, two at a time.

Four stories up, she reached the roof access door. She knelt down and picked the lock just as easily as the first one. Stowing her gear, she inhaled deeply of the cool night air as she stepped out on to the roof of the building. The moon was in a waxing phase, making it brighter than it had been when she'd returned to New York. With the moon to light her way, Beckett maneuvered around the disused ventilation and air conditioning equipment cluttering the roof, heading in the direction the neighboring warehouse.

Hopping up on the ledge, Beckett peered down at the gap separating the two buildings. She could see a patrol of uniformed officers lazily walking down the alley. The night air was quiet enough she could just barely make out the low murmur of their conversation. Slipping back down off the ledge, Beckett slid down to the rooftop floor, and rested her back against cold stone slab. Shrugging her backpack off her shoulders, she placed it down in front of her and slowly unzipped it. She retrieved her grappling gun from inside, and hurriedly loaded the grappling hook.

Pushing back up, she peered over the ledge, this time judging the distance between the two buildings, while also looking for somewhere she could target her grappler. Her eyes flicked across the slightly sloped roof of the warehouse, finding purchase on some piping running along a square vent. Hefting her grappler up, she rested her elbows on the rough surface of the ledge, and took aim.

She squinted, and drew in a breath before squeezing the trigger.

There was a soft hiss and the grappler shot out over the unsuspecting heads of the patrol officers in the alley below, flying across the gap between the buildings. Beckett chewed on her lower lip as she watched the hook sail through the air. For a second, she was worried she had missed her target, but then the grappling hook landed with a metal clang precisely where she'd been aiming. Beckett pulled the rope back until the metal hooks found purchase on the piping. She tugged on it a few more times to ensure it was secure, before taking the loose end of the zip line and tying it up around the hand railings beside the rooftop access structure. After testing the rope one more time, she gave a satisfied nod.

Slipping the straps of the backpack over her shoulders, she clipped it in place around her waist, and then took a deep breath. Beckett stepped up onto the ledge, and brought her climbing pick up. Placing the curved handle above her head, with the rope line in-between, Beckett gripped the climbing pick with both hands and jumped.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the momentarily sense of weightlessness, before gravity took over, and she fell. The zip line sagged under her weight, and she sailed effortlessly across the gap between the two buildings, landing securely on both feet atop the warehouse where her mentor had been killed.

Dropping down low to the surface of the warehouse roof, Beckett clipped her climbing pick back to her belt and then crawled on all fours, like a prowling alley cat, to a skylight. Large portions of the glass had already shattered from disuse and neglect, providing her with enough room to shimmy down to the support beams below. Holding her arms out to keep her balance, Beckett carefully made her way towards the closest wall as silently as she could. Crouching down, she used both hands to steady herself as she straddled the metal beam and stretched her neck out to gaze down on the warehouse below.

Off to the right, around a cluster of rectangle and square wooden crates, she could see the cordoned off area of the crime scene. Even this late at night there were still a handful of forensic techs working it. Narrowing her eyes, Beckett watched as two FBI agents discussed something off to the side. One of the Feds had a clipboard in his hand, probably an inventory of everything the FBI had seized. Beckett tried not to dwell on the fact that most of these artifacts and priceless works of art would probably be on sale on the black market if it hadn't been for Mike Royce dying here.

"Damn it, Royce, what were you doing here?" she hissed under her breath as she surveyed the rest of the large warehouse floor, stacked high with numerous crates of varying shapes and sizes. It almost reminded her of the closing scene of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_.

Beckett bit her lower lip as she contemplated slipping down on top of one of the larger crates, but her plans were put to a halt when the sound of a door banging open echoed throughout the warehouse. She held firm, hanging on the metal rafters above even as every muscle in her body went tense. She gritted her teeth, and shrunk back, scooting closer to the wall and the shadows.

The agent holding the clipboard glanced up as three more people joined the group. Judging by the way one of the figures was pressed close in between the other two, Beckett wagered he wasn't there by choice.

They say curiosity killed the cat.

At this moment, Kate Beckett's curiosity outweighed her natural instinct for caution. So, with great care, Beckett slinked along the top of beam to get a closer look at the new arrivals. At one point, she had to switch beams, and in the process her left foot slipped and she almost lost her balance, but luckily she was able to steady herself and regain her hold on the metal beam and make the crossing without any more difficulty. From that point on, she moved much more cautiously.

Now in her new position, Beckett had a much better view of the group of men below. And her closer proximity also provided her with the chance to eavesdrop.

"He was trying to get in through the back door, sir," one of the agents holding up the man said.

Agent Clipboard turned and looked at the caught intruder. "As I told you, lying won't get you anywhere. What were you trying to accomplish?"

The man straightened, and Beckett's breath nearly caught in her throat as she recognized him. She almost couldn't believe it. Beckett had thought she wouldn't see him again after their meeting in the 12th precinct.

"You've got to be kidding me?" she cursed silently, shaking her head at the man's stubbornness. "What the hell is _he_ doing here?"

Down below her, the man in question was taking a step towards the agent with the clipboard. He flashed a dazzling smile, obviously hoping to charm his way out of this mess. Kate suppressed the need to roll her eyes.

"Look, as I told Agent McBride," Richard Castle said, inclining his head towards the stone faced agent standing beside him. "I'm just looking for a story."


	7. Chapter 6

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6**_

* * *

 _Location: Disused Warehouse, Queens_

* * *

He usually had better luck than this. And he had been up against more dangerous adversaries than the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Yet here he was. After his encounter with the alluring and utterly fascinating Kate Beckett at the 12th Precinct, Castle couldn't help himself. He had to know her story.

No… he _needed_ to know it.

Meeting her in person had heightened his interest in the treasure hunter with the haunting good looks. But there was more to the woman than just her stunning beauty. Her eyes had held an intelligent quality that he found most attractive. Yet there was a sadness behind them, born of some tragedy she kept concealed and compartmented. Oh, she tried to hide it, most definitely, but he saw it, if only just a flicker of it. And though he couldn't claim to know Kate Beckett all that well, Castle could discern that her sadness had nothing to do with the events that occurred on that island in the Aegean several years ago.

Whatever it was that caused her such inner sorrow was deep rooted. Yet, at the same time, she had also acquired her fierce drive from it. There was most definitely a story there. And Richard Castle, Pulitzer Prize winning investigative journalist, desperately wanted to know her story.

But first he needed to talk his way out of this situation with the FBI.

His eyes made a quick survey of the warehouse interior, noting all the various crates and filled cargo palettes, each one no doubt containing a piece of antiquity that had been smuggled into the country. It was like something out of Indiana Jones. Shifting his feet, Castle settled his gaze back on the FBI agent-in-charge. The man wore a cheap suit and a sour expression. He lowered the clipboard he had been reviewing, and fixed Castle with an annoyed look.

" _Just looking for a story_ , huh?" the man echoed his earlier assertion. "Is that the best you can do?"

"I often find that the truth always works best," Castle declared, proud of the firm conviction in his voice. After all, he'd been known to smudge the truth from time to time while in pursuit of a story.

The lead agent regarded him for several long seconds, before giving a decisive nod. "Search him," he commanded.

Agent McBride moved around Castle, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. He gritted his teeth, stifling his protest, choosing instead to remain silent, not wanting to provoke them any further. The other agent—Castle hadn't caught his name yet—stepped forward and started patting him down. The man was a tad bit handsy for his tastes, and Castle couldn't hold his tongue for too long.

"Hey now, careful with the family jewels," he quipped with a smirk, earning a glare from Agent Handsy as the man paused midway through his pat-down. Castle chuckled to himself, and tilted his head to the side in a relax posture, deciding he'd appease the FBI's security precautions.

Eventually, after some more questionable passes of the man's hands, the agent straightened up and slipped his hand inside Castle's pants pockets, pulling out his wallet and cellphone. Without any hesitation, he then handed them to Agent Clipboard, who had yet to introduce himself. The man flipped open the worn leather and glanced at the contents held within. He bent his head as he examined Castle's New York driver's license.

It was at this time that something in the steel rafters up above caught Castle's attention. He flicked his eyes up and nearly yelped in surprise when he recognized the slender feminine silhouette of a certain treasure hunter.

The FBI agent-in-charge read off his name and address from the driver's license, and Castle jerked his eyes away from the sight of the eavesdropper up above.

"Yep, that's me," Castle replied, flashing the man a charming grin. When he was met with stern silence, Castle let out a sigh and shook his head. "You know, if all you wanted to know was my name, you could have just asked nicely. No need to have Agent Handsy here get all frisky."

The agent beside him bristled, wrapping his hand around the back of Castle's neck. "He doesn't seem to want to cooperate, sir," he stated in an icy tone. "Maybe we should take him into the back office for some _enhanced_ interrogations… see if he's still laughing then."

The lead agent let the tension drag out for a beat before ending it. "That's enough, Agent Kirkshaw. Stand down."

The man did as he was told, but with a growl and a sneer in Castle's direction. Agent McBride moved forward to take Kirkshaw's place at Castle's side as the other agent took a step back to cool off. McBride leveled him with a look, and Castle inclined his head in acknowledgment of the man's silent recommendation. He momentarily flicked his eyes back up to the steel beams, where Kate Beckett was perched, watching the entire exchange. He could just barely make out the mirthful expression on her gorgeous features.

Castle shifted his attention back to the lead agent. "And you are?"

"Special Agent Jake Bauer," the man almost winced as he said his name.

"Whoa!" Castle's lips quirked up in an amused smirk and his eyes popped wide in surprise. "Are you sure your first name really isn't Jack?"

Special Agent Bauer closed his eyes and released an exasperated breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "No _24_ jokes… _please_."

Castle bit his lower lip, trying hard to suppress the laugh that wanted out. This was too good. He couldn't resist. "You know, now that I think about it, you do kind of look like Kiefer Sutherland," he quipped, earning a light chuckle from Agent McBride.

Bauer shot the man a withering glare, and he quieted. Heaving in a frustrated breath, Agent Bauer turned his attention back to Castle. "What exactly is it that you do, Mr. Castle?" the lead agent asked, raising a stern eyebrow, clearly unamused. His loss.

"You mean you've never heard of me?" Castle hooted in faux dismay, feigning offense. He flirted his eyes up once again to spy Kate Beckett leaning forward on the steel beam in an attempt to probably get a better view of his encounter with the FBI agents.

"Should I have?" Bauer questioned, knitting his eyebrows together.

Castle's gaze was still riveted on the woman in the rafters. As she craned her neck further, her eyes suddenly locked with his, and in her surprise she nearly lost her balance. Her mouth dropped open in a quiet gasp as her arms flailed out as she grappled with the steel beam she'd been straddling. Castle nearly winced when she almost fell, but thankfully she managed to catch herself before such a thing occurred, though perhaps causing a little too much noise than she'd intended. The sounds had been faint, but they had been enough to warrant a puzzled frown from Agent Bauer. The lead agent cocked his head, and started to turn to investigate the source of the noise, but Castle jumped in before the man could fully glance around and see Beckett up in the support beams above them.

"If winning two Pulitzers doesn't get you name recognition, then I don't know what will," Castle groused, playing it up to distract the agent. It worked, too, much to his relief.

"Just pulling your leg, Mr. Castle," Bauer said, the distracted look on his face vanishing as he refocused back on him. "I know who you are. Your exposé on the blood diamond conflict in the Congo was quite impressive and opened a number of federal investigations in the high-end jewelry industry."

"Always a pleasure to meet a fan," Castle exuded with charm, glancing up to see the lithe form of Kate Beckett slink back along the steel beams and rafters, disappearing back into the shadows.

Bauer's seemingly friendly demeanor instantly morphed into stern disapproval. "That exposé also blew up a five-year undercover task force operation I was part of."

"Um… my deepest apologies," Castle said, jerking his eyes back to the man and attempting to sound as sincere and genuine as possible despite not really caring. If the Feds hadn't spent so long looking the other way, there would have never been any need for his exposé on the blood diamond conflict. "But both you and I know that that isn't really my fault."

Bauer pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, obviously inclined not to agree. "Tell me again what you are doing here, Mr. Castle?" he demanded.

"As I said before, I'm looking for a story."

"Then you've wasted your time," Bauer asserted with a wave of his hand. "This is just your run of the mill smuggling deal gone bad. Nothing more, nothing less."

Castle found that highly unlikely, but chose not to voice that belief at the current juncture. There was clearly a story here. Nothing about this warehouse and the shootout that had occurred here seemed run of the mill. Even if he didn't know of the case's connection to the mysterious and highly attractive treasure hunter, whom he had seen spying from them in the rafters above, Castle would still have found the circumstances intriguing.

Agent Bauer cocked his head as he stared at him. "I'm curious, Mr. Castle," he said, handing his wallet and cellphone back to him. "What possible story did you believe you'd uncover?"

"Stolen artifacts and smuggled antiquities always make for a great story, Agent Bauer," Castle asserted as he pocketed his wallet.

"Yeah, well, this isn't some Indiana Jones movie," Bauer said with an annoyed expression. "Trust me, the real world is not that exciting." Castle disagreed with such a sentiment, but remained silent. Bauer turned away and motioned Agent Kirkshaw back over.

"Sir?" the handsy agent inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Delete any photos Mr. Castle might have taken with his cellphone, and then kindly escort him out of the building," Bauer ordered. He glanced back toward Castle. "Good luck finding a story, Mr. Castle, because you won't find any here."

XXX

He found her waiting for him outside, leaning casually against the front hood of his 2006 dark gray Ford Focus, which he had left parked several blocks away. He should not have been surprised, but he was. Her arms were folded across her chest, her posture was relaxed and calm in spite of the fact she had almost been found out lurking in the support beams above a crime scene that had been secured by the FBI. Dress all in black, she resembled a cat burglar returned from a midnight prowl. Her gorgeous brunette hair had been tied back into a high ponytail, leaving her beautiful features unconcealed. Her high cheekbones and straight jawline stood out under the warm fluorescent light of the streetlamp. And the light dusting of makeup only served to accentuate her natural beauty.

Her eyes flicked up to lock with his the moment she caught sight of his approach. Castle heaved in a deep breath, trying to stifle the rising thump of his heart beneath his chest. There was just something about this woman—despite barely knowing her—that made him want to hope for more than finding out a story from her. He had little doubt that she was going to be a mystery he would never be able to solve. And, surprisingly, for a man in his profession, he was okay with that.

She watched him with keen eyes as he joined her under the streetlamp, leaning against the front hood of his car beside her.

"Hello, Castle," she said with a slight nod, her movements full of grace and poise.

"You can call me Rick, you know," he said flirtingly, by way of greeting, grinning cockily and flashing her a suggestive wink. "I was hoping to see you again, Ka—"

"Just Beckett will do," she cut him off before he could finish saying her name, narrowing her eyes as she glanced his way. He tried to get a read on her, but she was doing a superb job of hiding her inner thoughts. _Probably from years of practice_ , he presumed.

"Ah, let me guess, a habit picked up from your brief tenure with the NYPD?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Something like that, yes," she said, shifting somewhat uncomfortably beside him.

A long beat passed between them filled with nothing but silence. It was quiet in this part of town. And it was just the two of them. Barely anyone else was about. If anyone was, they were probably on the shady end of the spectrum, lurking in the shadows, not wanting to been seen as they went about their business. Castle glanced around at the disused and neglected buildings around them, momentarily wondering what had become of this once promising warehouse district.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glanced towards Beckett, hoping to soften her mood. "To what do I owe this unexpected yet delightful pleasure?"

She bit her lower lip as she cast a coy glance in his direction, as if his close proximity threw her off. "I just wanted to thank you," Beckett answered at length, her steady voice not betraying anything. If she was feeling the same feelings that he was, then Castle was impressed.

"For what?" he questioned, tilting his head and making sure he met her eyes. Castle wanted her to know that despite the suggestiveness of his earlier behavior, he was interested in more than just her physical attractiveness. He knew that beneath the flesh there existed a strong woman with a passion and fierce intellect. In truth, he found those qualities in her far more attractive than her exterior beauty. Though, obviously, it didn't hurt that she had a body like a runway model.

"Not giving me away," she said, gracing him with a grateful look.

He held her gaze for a long beat before replying. "Anytime, Beckett," he offered her a sincere smile. "Anytime."

The right side of her mouth quirked up in a half-smirk, her eyes flashing with a playful glint. "You know, Mr. Castle, you shouldn't rely on your charm and good looks to get you out of tough situations," she asserted. "It's not always going to work."

"Oh, really?" he questioned with a long appraising look of the breathtakingly stunning woman beside him. "Like you don't do the same thing when you're trying to reacquire a piece of lost antiquity for a client."

Beckett pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest as she flashed him an annoyed look that told him he was right, though she never gave it voice.

When the silence stretched on for longer than Castle liked, he scooted closer to her. He noticed her tense when he did so, but she soon relaxed. "So, was that all?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," she answered curtly, purposely not returning his gaze. Stubborn woman. Castle liked stubborn women. He'd long since grown tired of ordinary. He wanted extraordinary. And Castle was starting to believe he'd found just that in Kate Beckett.

"It doesn't have to be," he suggested, glancing at her with a small smile, eyes sparkling. "We could go to dinner. Debrief each other."

Beckett stared up at him with a calculating expression. "Why, Castle? So I can be another one of your conquests? Don't think I don't know about you. You have quite the reputation for bedding your female sources."

Castle shrugged nonchalantly. There was no point in denying any of it when it was true. Though, it was slightly exaggerated. "Or I could be one of yours," he offered instead with a warm smile.

She gazed up at him for a long beat, her eyes scanning over his face, as if searching for hidden clues to his intentions. She pushed off the front hood of the car, turning to face him. She extended her hand, which he took.

"It was nice meeting you, Castle," she said, and he tried to suppress the shiver of excitement that shot through his arm when their hands met. He wondered if she felt it too. If she did, she was doing a far better job at hiding it than he was.

Castle flashed her a charming grin. "It's too bad. It would've been great."

Beckett hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip as she seemed to debate with herself. After a long beat, she pushed up on her toes as she leaned in. Her lips brushed ever so slightly against the shell of his left earlobe, causing a shiver of pleasure to ripple down his spine.

"You have no idea," she whispered in a husky voice.

And then with that said, she flashed him a dazzling smile, seemingly delighting in teasing him, before turning around and walking away from him, adding an extra sway to her hips as she disappeared into the shadows of the night. Castle watched her go, completely blown away. His pulse thrummed with something that had lain dormant for years. It almost felt like he was waking up from a dream. He had a feeling that this was just the start of something that was going to be simply amazing.


	8. Chapter 7

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7**_

* * *

 _Location: Georgetown University, Washington, D.C._

* * *

Hal Lockwood walked with a relaxed gait through the campus, keeping his messenger bag snugged close to his side, one hand casually draped over the side. He wasn't expecting any problems, but it always paid to be prepared. It was also why he kept a Glock strapped in a shoulder holster tucked away, hidden under his burgundy jacket. After all, what he was carrying held not only immense historical value, but a significant monetary value as well.

He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept that the artifact dug out from a cavern in Iceland could be connected to the lost city of Atlantis. The idea that the mythical city might have once existed seemed ludicrous to him, but that was an opinion he kept to himself. His employer was paying good money for his services, so he wasn't going to complain.

As he turned around the corner of the campus library, Lockwood eyed a number of students lazily walking along the pathways between the buildings, largely oblivious to anything but themselves and their friends. The Gothic Revival and Gregorian brick architecture of the university's campus was a nice change compared to the nearly ubiquitous neoclassical style found throughout the many government and public buildings of Washington, D.C. It certainly gave off a very collegiate atmosphere.

He paused momentarily as he approached Healy Hall. The stark Neo-Medieval edifice was designed by Paul J. Pelz and John L. Smithmeyer at the same time they were working on the Library of Congress. It was an impressive sight with its towering clock tower. There was little wonder that the building had been designated a National Historic Landmark in 1987.

Healy Hall held a number of notable rooms, such as the so-called Georgetown's "Jewel in the Crown" Gaston Hall auditorium. However, as interesting as such places might be, Lockwood was not here to marvel at the archeological beauty of the place. Healy Hall also held the university's Classics Department. And Lockwood had a meeting with one of the department's faculty members.

* * *

 _Location: Beckett's Loft, New York City_

* * *

It had been two days, and she still did not know what to think of Richard Castle. Well, if she were being honest with herself, that really wasn't the case. She had plenty of thoughts on Richard Castle. During the dull moments of the day and night she would have certain thoughts, or rather dreams—amazing, steamy dreams—about the ruggedly handsome journalist. There was no denying she found him attractive— _very_ attractive; she admitted that much. But she was determined to ignore it, no matter how vivid and sensual her dreams were or how powerful the allure of the man was.

And she'd tried.

She really did.

Yet despite all she did to stifle those swirling and contradicting thoughts, all she could think of was the electric jolt that had sparked when their fingers touched at their first meeting, and how his gaze made her heart race and a pleasant warmth pool in her center. It had been a long while since she'd had such a strong reaction to a man. She had tossed and turned that night—and the night after that, constantly second-guessing her decision to turn down his offer of dinner and a 'debriefing'. To tell the truth, it had been a while—longer than she would care to admit—that she'd shared her bed with anyone. And for that reason, and maybe some more, his offer had been so tempting, so very tempting. A big part of her longed to fill that void, yet at the same time the decision had been an easy one.

Over the years, Kate had had her share of romantic relationships. Most, if not all, had been short-lived. For a while, after she'd recovered from the loss of Mike Royce, she had dated an FBI agent, Will Sorenson. But that had ended when he'd received a promotion that would take him to Boston. Will had accepted, just assuming that she'd up and move with him. She would not. And thus ended their six month relationship. After that it was a string of dates that were set up by her friend Lanie. None of those had proceeded past the first date. And only two had gained access to her bed for the night, and both times the morning after had been awkward and slightly uncomfortable, each knowing it was just a one-time thing.

Her last relationship had been with a robbery detective named Tom Demming. They had dated for about a month, before she ended it when he'd suggested a weekend getaway in a beachside cottage rental in Southampton. She had really liked Tom, a lot, but at the same time, he just wasn't what she was looking for. Since then, she'd only been on one date with one of Lanie's doctor friends whose name she couldn't recall, even if her life depended on it. The date had been pleasant enough. They both had an interest in motorcycles, and she found the passion he had for his work very attractive, and it certainly didn't hurt that the man was sculpted like Greek God. But beyond that, she hadn't felt any spark. Nothing like what she'd felt after just shaking hands with Richard Castle.

However, despite the allure that a romantic liaison with the intrepid journalist presented, Kate wasn't all too keen on pursuing such a thing, at least not right now. Besides, she just wasn't in the proper mindset to start anything new with someone, nor was she interested in a brief fling, no matter how fun it could be. If she'd learn anything from Mike Royce's second death, it was that she wanted more. She longed for more. She was tired of playing games. She wanted something solid… something real.

And Richard Castle, playboy journalist, was not that.

He was a distraction. And that was something she could ill afford at this current juncture.

The doorbell chimed, blessedly pulling her out of her meandering ruminations and signaling the arrival of her Chinese takeout. Kate got up from the comfortable purple sofa she'd been lounging on, stretching her back, before quickly padding across the cold hardwood floor towards the front door. Hesitating out of long ingrained cautions, Kate checked through the peephole before opening the door and paying the delivery boy, adding a generous tip on top of the final total.

After locking back up, Kate went back into the living room and plopped down onto the sofa, leaning back into the cushions as she snapped the complimentary wooden chopsticks apart and rubbed the rough edges together to file down any splinters. She furrowed her brow and bit her lower lip as she allowed her mind to wander for just a brief moment back to the journalist. It still surprised her that Castle hadn't given her away to the FBI agents in the warehouse. Despite her assertions to the contrary, Kate did find the prospects of featured article about her and her line of work intriguing. She could see why someone would want to write an article about it.

Kate popped open one of the cartons, nearly inhaling its contents as she leaned forward and glanced down at the coffee table. The flat surface was covered in manila folders containing the files and reports she'd collected over the years regarding her mother's murder and the Blue Butterfly. She had found the necklace, yet she still hadn't found those responsible for her mother's death. She had come to terms with that a long time ago. But now, with her mentor's death, Kate found those old wounds reopening.

Placing the carton aside, she stretched a hand out and shifted through the papers and reports, pulling out the photograph of the crime scene. Her mother was lying there, closed eyes and pale skin. She almost looked serene. If it weren't for the pool of blood around her body, Kate would have thought her mother was sleeping. She'd been stabbed, and left to bleed out amongst the filthy garbage in the alley up in Washington Heights. And still, after all this time, Kate could never figure out just what had possessed her mother to go there.

Shaking her head, Kate put the photograph down and turned her attention over to some of her mother's old case notes. Both her parents had been lawyers. While Kate's dad had focused on class action lawsuits, Johanna Beckett had liked to see herself as a champion of the less fortunate, of those the system let down. Kate had always admired that about her mother, and liked to believe she'd inherit some of that same spirit and drive for the truth. It was a trait that served her well in her current profession.

Kate had read and re-read many of these files so many times that she practically knew them by heart. Yet still she read them again, always searching for something that she might have missed the first time around. After finding nothing new—not that she expected too—Kate pulled her laptop out from underneath a stack of folders. While it booted up, she downed her glass of wine, and got up from the sofa to get a refill from the bottle on the kitchen counter.

Returning, Kate slipped down onto the floor, folding her legs under her as she leaned back against the edge of the sofa for support. She took a quick sip of the delicious red merlot, before placing the glass down and scooting her laptop closer. Opening up the web browser, she went to Google and ran a search on Richard Castle. The first hit was his bio on the _First Press_ website. His résumé was quite impressive. Two Pulitzers wasn't too shabby.

She clicked back to the Google search results and scrolled down the list of other hits. Looking under the hyperlinks, she noticed that most of the hits went to the _First Press_ website, namely to the online edition of his award winning articles. She decided to re-read his article on the blood diamond conflict. She was impressed with what she read. Apparently he had inserted himself in country, putting himself at risk on numerous occasions to get the information he needed for the exposé.

While a great many of the search results were for Castle's investigative reports, there were some of a different sort. She found a plethora of links to online gossip sites. There was even one that had a picture of him and a twenty-something scantily clad South American model lounging on a beach splashed across the top with a scandalous headline that was absolutely ridiculous. Kate had never much cared for such click-bait articles, but tonight she found that she couldn't help herself.

After taking another long gulp of wine, Kate moved her finger along the track pad and clicked the 'read more' hyperlink to take her to the full story. The entire article was utter nonsense. Most of what the 'journalist' wrote was pure conjecture and speculation, nothing but hearsay and rumor, yet was stated as if it was fact. She frowned and glanced at the photograph of Castle embracing the young Latin model as a wave crashed into them. Kate rolled her eyes and closed the tab.

She didn't know what to believe or even think when it came to the man. It was like there were two version of Richard Castle: One was a dedicated and intrepid investigative journalist, and the other appeared to be a womanizing jackass. It was difficult to reconcile the two. It hurt her head to even try. She frowned in exasperation. How could she even be attracted to such a man? And which one was the real one?

Just who was Richard Castle?

Reloading Google, Kate decided to look up the NYU student article that had originally piqued the journalist's interest in her. Typing in the right key words made it easy to find. She skimmed through the article, smiling softly to herself as she remembered the interview. The student had been nervous, clearly a little smitten with her.

She paused when she saw the photo with her holding the Blue Butterfly. She could still remember the sparkle and brilliant color of the blue diamonds, and the surprising light weight of the butterfly shaped setting that housed them. When she'd first located the infamous necklace, she had been concerned it was a fake. So she had it tested. The diamonds were authentic, and the craftsmanship matched the photos taken of the original necklace. It was enough for the Smithsonian Institute, who paid her a generous finder's fee for the once lost necklace.

Kate turned her focus back on the picture accompanying the article, noting that despite her smile in the photograph, her eyes held a sad quality. She remembered the feeling of triumph that had come with finding the lost artifact, but there had also been disappointment about the lack of other vital information that she had desperately craved. She frowned as she read the caption underneath the photo, only vaguely remembering saying the words written there: " _Finding the Blue Butterfly has been the fulfillment of a personal quest_ _."_ It had been the truth. Finding the Blue Butterfly necklace had provided her with a sense of closure that had been lacking from the police investigation into her mother's death. She just wished she'd found more about who had stolen it in the first place. All she had done was discover its location, not those who had taken it.

Kate scrubbed her hands down her face and glanced down at the files strewn across her coffee table. Despite the years spent investigating her mother's case, it still felt like it had gone nowhere. There were still too many unanswered questions. Sighing, Kate closed the laptop and stood up, stretching her back and suppressing a yawn. She was tired, and needed to sleep. Perhaps she could tackle the files again in the morning, with fresh eyes.

Collecting the empty food cartons and her wine glass, Kate padded into the kitchen, packing away the leftovers and downing the last of the wine in her glass. She had just finished putting everything away when she heard a digital chime echo out from back in the living room. Arching her neck, she stared back at the pile of folders and papers covering the coffee table. It wasn't too long until the shrill ring of her cellphone started to sound.

Kate rushed back over and dug through the files until she retrieved the offending device. "Beckett," she greeted, staring out across at the chaotic beauty of the Alex Gross painting adoring her living room wall. When there was no immediate response, she held the phone away to check the caller ID. It wasn't a number she recognized. She brought her cellphone back to her ear, and listened, swearing that she could hear the sounds of someone breathing. "Hello?"

The line went dead.

Kate pulled the phone away to see if the call had been disconnected. Finding confirmation, she punched the buttons to bring up her contact list and placed her own call. The line rang for a minute before being picked up with a grunt and breathless voice answering.

" _Yes_!?"

"Espo, it's me," she greeted.

" _Hey… um… Beckett, what's up_?" her former NYPD colleague asked, sounding slightly frustrated and a little out of breath.

Kate stifled a smirk when she heard the faint sounds of a woman cursing at the disruption in the background. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?" she asked. Oh, yeah, she was definitely interrupting something, that's for sure.

" _Uh…_ ," he hesitated for long enough to confirm her suspicion.

"Look," she said before he could respond. "Tell Lanie I'm sorry, but I'm going to need to borrow her boyfriend for a bit."

" _Ugh_ … _what's this about, Beckett_?" he asked after a lengthy pause in which she had heard a muffled conversation between Esposito and Lanie.

"I need you to run a number for me."


	9. Chapter 8

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8**_

* * *

 _Location: Georgetown University, Washington, D.C._

* * *

The first rays of the morning light were just beginning to filter in through the parted blinds in the side office located in Healy Hall. Hal Lockwood casually detached the silencer from his Glock, tucking it away into an inside pocket of his burgundy jacket. He smirked as he glanced at the dead man seated slumped over at his office desk.

"Thanks for the information, Professor," he said, parting his jacket open to place his Glock back into his shoulder holster.

Lockwood stepped around the desk and picked up the paper the man had been writing on. Some blood had sprayed onto it, but not enough to obscure the man's handwritten translation of the Nordic runes found on the eel head tablet Lockwood had brought with him from Iceland. After scanning the translation, he then folded the piece of paper up and stuffed it away into a pocket. Then, very carefully, Lockwood picked up the Nordic relic and rewrapped it in its linen bindings. After which, he gently placed it back into his messenger bag.

His cellphone buzzed as he was finishing his packing. Lockwood put the messenger bag down on the desk as he retrieved the device from his pocket.

"Yes?" he answered, pausing briefly as he listened to the voice on the other end. "When?" He waited for the reply. "Right. Okay, so you should evacuate." He paused again. "No," he shook his head. "I don't think she knows anything. But just in case, leave enough clues to distract her from the truth."

After receiving confirmation that his instructions would be obeyed, Lockwood hung up. He finished gathering the material from the professor's office that would be useful in his hunt for the next artifact. The man had managed to translate the Nordic runes, but they were a puzzle. It appeared he would need to collect all the tablets to decipher the meaning of the words. He scowled. The problem was no one seemed to know just how many tablets there were.

Lockwood took out his phone again and send a text message to his employee, updating the mysterious benefactor on his progress. He was going to need to book another flight, this time to South America. Before he'd killed him back in Iceland after the discovery of the eel headed tablet, Professor Jaegar had mentioned that one of his colleagues had unearthed a similar artifact in the ruins of the Mayan city of Tikal.

It looked like he was going to Guatemala.

* * *

 _Location: Walkup Apartment, New York City_

* * *

Kate entered the walkup across the street from her building. Detective Javier Esposito and his partner, Detective Kevin Ryan, were both waiting for her in the small lobby. Ryan quickly ended his phone call when he spotted her, tapping his friend's shoulder to get his attention while pocketing his cellphone.

"Morning, Beckett," Esposito said with a bob of his head. His eyes narrowed as he noticed her rumpled appearance. She was wearing an old pair of jeans and a black leather jacket over a tattered grey hoodie. And she had drawn her hair back into a messy ponytail. "Get any sleep?"

She shook her head and lifted a hand over her mouth as she stifled a persistent yawn. The boys waited without making comment. Always respectful, these two. With another shake of her head, the fog of exhaustion lifted enough for her to focus. She really needed a cup of coffee, but unfortunately that would have to wait.

Jerking her chin up towards the stairs, she asked, "Are you sure this is the place?"

"Yep," Esposito pulled out a slip of paper. "Tech traced the call to a landline on the sixth floor of this building."

"I've already seen the landlord," Ryan said, anticipating her next question. "Got the keys."

Kate smiled in gratitude, inclining her head. "Then let's go."

She followed behind her former colleagues as they marched up the stairs. A smirked touched her lips when she noticed Esposito breathing a little heavier as they passed the fourth floor.

"What's the matter, Espo?" she questioned with an amused lilt to her voice. "I'd have thought you'd be in better shape trying to keep up with Lanie."

Her friend grumbled, and cocked his head back to glare at her. Ryan snorted, letting out a light laugh, before his partner shot him a pointed look.

They walked past two tenants heading down on their way up to the sixth floor. The first was a man in his mid-thirties. He had short brown hair and scruff on his chin. He appeared to be in a hurry, and rushed by them without a second look. Kate cataloged his face and features in her mind for further review—just in case. The second was a woman in her early to mid-fifties. She offered the three of them a small smile as she passed them. Kate cataloged her face as well. Just because she looked innocuous didn't mean she was.

"We're looking for 6D," Ryan said as they emerged onto the sixth floor.

They walked down the corridor in single file, their footsteps softened on the carpeted flooring. Kate stepped around Esposito and took the lead. The boys remained silent, used to her taking command. The hike up the stairs had banished that last of her early morning lethargy. She was now wide awake and alert, intent on discovering the source of the mysterious phone call she'd received the last night. Her brow furrowed as she remembered her immediate thoughts after the call. There had been a tiny part of her that had hoped it had been Richard Castle calling her. But once Esposito had called back with the tracked down address, those hopes had faded.

"Here," Esposito said, sidestepping around her to reached the appropriate door. He lifted his fist and knocked on the door.

No response.

Frowning, Esposito glanced back at Kate and Ryan, before turning back and knocking again.

"NYPD, open up," he announced.

Again, no response.

"Use the key," Kate instructed.

Ryan retrieved the key that he'd acquired from the landlord from his pocket and stepped around her. He inserted the key and gave it a turn. It was quiet out in the corridor that all three of them could her the latch unlock. Esposito withdrew his sidearm and gave his partner a nod. Ryan curled his fingers around the doorknob and gave it a turn, opening the door in a quick motion.

Without delay Esposito marched in, announcing himself once again, before Ryan followed after withdrawing his sidearm. Kate stayed back, standing impatiently at the threshold, anxiously biting her lower lip as she waited for her former colleagues to clear the apartment. She missed being in the thick of the action, but she also respected protocol. And if there was something illegal going on, then she didn't want to jeopardize any case they might be able to build.

"All clear," rang out Esposito's voice from within, soon echoed by Ryan repeating the same pronouncement.

Kate took a moment to center herself before crossing the threshold.

The apartment was sparsely decorated, very minimalist. No photos or paintings adorned the walls. The small kitchenette was empty, saved for the empty pizza boxes spread out across the counter. There were no dishes or utensils to speak of. No cups or mugs for coffee. The coffeemaker was sparkling clean, and appeared to have never been used. Stepping further into the apartment, Kate met up with Ryan and Esposito as the two surveyed the living room.

"Bedroom?" she asked.

Ryan shook his head. "Empty. Nothing. Not even a mattress on the floor."

Kate turned her eyes onto the scene before them.

The living room was an apt name, considering it was the only room that appeared to have been lived in. There was a fold up chair, which had been toppled over on the floor. It was surrounded by a pile of used and empty cardboard paper cups from a variety of coffee shops. There were empty water bottles scattered across the floor as well. A card table was off to the side, littered with papers and glossy photos. There was an Ethernet line and power cable lying across the table, still plugged into the wall sockets, but the device they'd been connected to—presumably a laptop—was missing. And standing before the bay window was a tripod.

She stepped over the detritus on the floor, careful not to disturb any evidence on her way to the window. Squinting her eyes, Kate peered outside, easily spotting her apartment window across the way. She glanced down at the tripod. The camera once attached to it was long gone. The thought of someone spying on her made her shudder in revulsion.

"Yo, Beckett, check this out," Esposito said. He'd snapped on a pair of gloves and was shifting through the pile of papers and glossy photos on the card table.

Kate turned away from the window and joined her former colleague. He handed her an extra pair of gloves, and she quickly put them on, stretching her fingers as she did so. Esposito gestured to the photos. She picked one up and frowned. It was a shot of her walking out the front door of her apartment building. She put it down and picked up another, seeing a photo of her shot through the living room window while she was doing yoga. There was another of her walking by in her underwear. Her skin crawled. It was all just so disturbing.

"Seems like this creep had an unhealthy obsession with you," Esposito said, shifting through another stack of photos pretty much similar to what she'd already looked at.

"What are these?" Ryan asked, reaching for some of the loose papers. He narrowed his eyes and frowned as he stared down at the print outs.

"Ryan?" Kate prompted after a brief silence.

"Bank statements," he answered with a puzzled expression. "Not yours."

"Huh? And how would you know that, Kevin?"

"The account holder's name is printed at the top," he quickly informed her, turning the paper around and pointing to the spot for her to inspect.

"Neville Rhinehart," she read.

"I'll run a check on that name," Esposito said, taking out his phone and stepping back from the table.

Kate nodded and turned back to look over the contents on the table. She moved some papers aside, finding more photos. These were different. They weren't of her in her apartment. As she flipped through them, Kate saw images of her at the precinct, walking out a coffee shop, and buying groceries. Basically, her just going about her daily routines. The last shot made her breath hitch and her eyes go wide. In her hand, she held a photo of her standing on the rocky beach on the island. And judging from the coat she was wearing it was from her last visit. Someone had been spying on her while she was saying her final farewells to Mike Royce before she scattered his ashes out into sea.

"Ryan, I don't think this guy was just some creeper," she said softly, still shocked by what she was seeing.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

Kate showed him the photos she'd been looking through. He skimmed through them.

"Stalker?" he hedged, eyebrows knitting together.

"Maybe," she said, though she suspected there was more to it than that. "Let me look at those bank records."

Ryan handed them over and Kate bit her lower lip as she went through them. There were large deposits at the end of each month, indicating payment for services rendered. And judging from the evidence on the table, Kate could only assume this guy had been paid to follow her.

But, by whom?

"Neville Rhinehart; it's an alias," Esposito announced, hanging up his phone and pocketing the small device.

"So this guy definitely isn't your average creep," Ryan mumbled, mostly to himself, turning back to look down at the photos and papers.

Esposito shrugged. "Could still be, but we did get one thing off the alias."

"Oh," Kate perked up. "And what was that?"

"Even though it's a fake name, I still had Tori run it through the database," he explained.

"And?" Kate coaxed, growing inpatient.

Esposito faltered under her intense gaze. "Well," he rubbed the back of his head. "The name Neville Rhinehart has popped up in association with cases against Russell Ganz."

"Ganz!?" she hissed out the name with obvious venom, shaking her head. "No. No. That can't be. That's impossible. He's dead. He has to be dead. At least… I thought he was dead." She paused for a breath, shaking her head in disbelief once more. "Espo, are you sure?"

He nodded. "According to what Tori found out, yes. That's what the records say."

Kate let out a mild curse under her breath as she turned back to the table. She snatched the bank records up off the surface and hurriedly scanned through the document, searching for one of those large deposits at the end of the month that had piqued her interest earlier.

"There!" she exclaimed, finding one of the deposits. She traced her finger across the document to the small box that gave the details of the account that the money had been transferred from. "I need the information on this account."

Ryan stretched his neck to peer down at the bank statement. His eyes narrowed as he took out his notebook and copied down the numbers. He retrieved his cellphone from his pocket and stepped away to make a call.

While they waited, Kate continued her examination of the papers and photos spread out on the card table. She shifted through some more photos. All of them were of her, in various places, but most were taken through her living room window. It was unnerving seeing how much of her privacy had been violated. And she didn't know whether or not it was worse that the guy wasn't just some creeper. At this point, she might have preferred he was. Because if he was connected with Russell Ganz in any way, then it was bad.

Very bad.

"Whoa! What happened in here?"

Her back went rigid at the sound of that voice. _No. No. He can't be here_ , she thought as she shook her head in disbelief. Slowly— _very slowly_ —she turned around to face the unwelcomed newcomer. He grinned charmingly at her, waggling his eyebrows, thinking he was all roguishly dashing, which he was—damn him and his ruggedly handsome looks. But that wasn't the point.

Kate thought she'd made herself clear the last time they'd seen one another. She didn't want him following her. And she had zero interest in Pulitzer Prize winner journalist Richard Castle writing a story about her.

"Oh, um… hey, Rick," Ryan said with a strained smile, holding his cellphone away from his ear and unknowingly revealing himself to be the traitor in their midst. "What are you doing here?"

Castle grinned widely and stepped further into the room, taking it all in. "Hi, Kevin. When you called I just knew I had to come and see for myself."

" _Ryan_ ," Kate growled, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the younger detective.

He had the decency to flush with shame as he glanced towards her with an apologetic look, silently mouthing 'sorry'. She groaned inwardly and rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as she turned her focus back on the annoying journalist. Castle pursed his lips and cautiously stepped around Esposito, who was giving him the evil eye.

"So, Beckett, I see you've got yourself a stalker!" he chirped excitedly, glancing down at the stack of photos on the table.

Kate let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. "More than one, it would seem," she muttered under her breath.

"Hmm?" he hummed in question, glancing up to her with raised eyebrows.

"Nothing," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. Kate shifted her weight and narrowed her eyes as she watched Castle lean over the table, examining the photos.

"If it wasn't for the creepy factor, some of these are pretty flattering," he said, gesturing towards the photos of her walking around her apartment in her underwear. "You could make some serious money in modeling."

"Perv," she grumbled, shoving him back.

"Hey!" Castle yelped in protest as she grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him out of the room before he could contaminate the scene.

"I thought I made myself clear, _Mister_ Castle," Kate ground out through clenched teeth as she led him into the corridor outside the apartment, leaving Ryan and Esposito to finish up inside.

"With what?"

"Following me!" she growled.

"Look, I can help," he insisted, trying on one of his damn charming smiles. "I've got connections."

"So do I," Kate said, trying not to get distracted by his good looks and the surprisingly intense physical attraction she felt. Thankfully, from their brief exchanges so far, he managed to throw cold water on that every time he opened his mouth. The guy was an egotistical jackass.

"Yeah, okay you do," Castle conceded with a nod. "But… mine don't have other obligations. Mine don't have to worry about following procedure and protocol."

Kate hesitated. God, how she hated herself for hesitating, but the thought of not having to wade through red tape was more tempting than she'd cared to admit. Castle saw her hesitate, there was no way she could hide it, and he pounced on the opportunity.

"I noticed there were printed out statements from New Amsterdam Bank and Trust," he said.

"Wait…," Kate frowned, confused, wondering when he had the time to notice the bank records when all she'd seen him do was ogle the photos of her in her underwear. "When did you—?"

"Doesn't matter," he waved a hand in assurance. "What's important is that I know a guy."

"You know a guy?" she echoed with an incredulous look.

He nodded. "Yep. Told you I had connections," he asserted with a wink. "You need to know something about an account holder? Well, just give me the number and all I need to do is make a call."

Kate frowned and chewed on her lower lip as she mulled over the idea. It could save her some time. And she'd already asked a lot of her former NYPD colleagues. She didn't want to get them in trouble with their captain.

"All right, fine," she let out a sigh, relenting to his proposal.

"Yes!" Castle hooted, delighted with her acceptance. He even did a little fist pump. She gave him a puzzled looked and he simply just grinned back at her. "You won't regret this," he insisted, his grin turning into a cocky smirk as he practically skipped around her to reenter the apartment.

"I already do," Kate mumbled under her breath. She rolled her eyes as she turned to followed him, shaking her head in disbelief, wondering what the hell she'd just got herself into.


	10. Chapter 9

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 9**_

* * *

 _Location: Richard Castle's Apartment_

* * *

Castle tugged his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door to his apartment. He hesitated for a brief moment before opening it, anxiously glancing back at his companion. She raised an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look. He offered her a weak smile and then pushed the door open, ushering her in.

"Sorry about the mess," he quickly announced as they entered. "I'm rarely here."

She cocked her head, quirking up one eyebrow as she gave him a sideways glance. "Now, why don't I find that surprising?"

"Not for the reasons you're thinking," Castle asserted with a frown, knowing exactly what she was assuming. Despite what she may believe, he wasn't the globetrotting womanizer the tabloids made him out to be. Yes, he enjoyed the occasional liaison with a beautiful woman while working a story, but there was more to him than that. He wasn't as shallow as she seemed to think. After all, he hadn't won two Pulitzers for nothing. "May I take your coat?"

Beckett looked at him for a moment, before shrugging nonchalantly and untying the lash around her slim waist. She rolled her shoulders, allowing her Balmoral trench coat to slip down her arms, trusting him to catch it before it fell to the floor. He grinned, curling his fingers into the rich fabric. She had good taste in fashion. If he had to guess, this charcoal gray overcoat was a Burberry.

While he hung up her coat, Beckett stepped into his meager living space, dumping her large duffel bag onto the sofa. She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed his home.

"Not much for cooking, are you?" she asked, arching her neck to look back at him.

"Huh?" Castle fumbled, before taking in the state of his living room, and the leaning towers of takeout cartons on the coffee table. He flushed in embarrassment. "No, no," he insisted, rushing ahead to clean up the mess. "I'm quite the chef, when time permits. But alas, I'm usually too busy to cook. So… yeah, I do tend to order in a lot."

Beckett raised a hand to reassure him, an amused smile touching her lips. "Don't worry, Castle, I was only teasing," she said. "I order takeout a lot, too."

He let out a breath he hadn't know he was holding in as he deposited the cartons in his recycling bin. He already had a stack of empty pizza boxes on the counter, one left opened displaying two moldy slices. Castle grimaced. Yeah, it had been a while since he'd taken the time to clean up. What he told her was the truth. He rarely spent much time here. He preferred being out in the field, working on an exposé. This apartment was more of a place he could simply crash in-between writing featured articles for _First Press_.

"Can I get you anything? Want something to drink?" he asked. "I have… um… water and… a bottle of merlot."

"No, I'm fine," Beckett said with a shake of her head.

She brushed her hair back from her face, trying to work it into a loose ponytail. Castle had to check himself to make sure he wasn't staring. It was a struggle. She was perhaps one of the most attractive women he'd ever seen. The photographs they saw earlier—no matter how disturbing—did not do her justice. She was stunningly beautiful, even when she wasn't making any effort to do so. It was just natural with her.

"Castle," she said his name, in a soft, amused tone.

He blinked and flicked his eyes up to meet hers, furrowing his brow in question.

"You're staring," she explained with a slight grin.

"Um… yeah?"

"Well, it's kinda creepy," Beckett said. "So, stop."

"Right, right," he bobbed his head, flashing her an apologetic look, but he couldn't help but notice the slight blush that rose along her neck and cheeks as she turned away from him to focus on fixing her hair, allowing it to fall back down on her shoulders, giving up on the ponytail.

Castle quickly moved about cleaning up the kitchen counter, doing anything to keep himself busy to prevent himself from once again ogling his house guest. Hadn't his mother taught him it was rude to stare? He thought so. Then again, most of his formative years had been spent hanging around backstage during his mother's performances. Castle had gained a lot of knowledge then— _saw a lot, too_. And that was why he found his current behavior around Kate Beckett so bewildering.

Richard Castle wasn't used to being so nervous around women. Flirting had always come easy to him. He was a master. It helped him greatly in his line of work, when he was investigating something, needing to get answers. He'd turn on the charm and usually got what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted. He was a man who was used to getting his way.

"So, Castle, where do you want me?" Beckett asked, picking her duffel bag up off the sofa.

His mouth dropped, an innuendo-heavy quip on the tip of his tongue. Oh, there were so many ways he could answer that question. So many ways. But he held back, refraining from his usual suggestive response. Castle didn't want her thinking of him as some cad who just wanted to get into her pants. He wanted to, yes. Oh, how he wanted to. But he needed to handle her differently than he did other women. Because there was something special about Kate Beckett. He'd known that since their first meeting, and the spark that shot through him when they shook hands.

"Castle?"

"Only have the one bed, sorry," he winced.

She narrowed her eyes.

He held up his hands, attempting to douse her rising temper. "No, no, no… I didn't mean… look, I'll take the sofa, okay? You can have the bed. I wasn't suggesting anything."

" _Right_ ," she mumbled under her breath, frowning. "Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. It's still not too late. I'll just go find a room at a hotel."

Castle moved fast. His legs carried him at a quick clip out of the kitchen to intercept her before she could make it to the front door. She glowered when he cut off her escape. He held up his hands, smiling reassuringly.

"We talked about this earlier," he reasoned. "And you agreed."

"Only because I was pressured into it," Beckett gritted out. The boys, both Ryan and Esposito, had taken his side when he'd offered up his apartment as a place she could crash while they hunted for the creep spying on her.

"That's because it makes perfect sense," Castle insisted with a charming grin. "You suspect this guy—Ganz, was his name—might have hired Neville Rhinehart to keep tabs on you. Yes?" She nodded. "Okay. Right. And we all agreed that camping out here, with me, was a good idea because…" He drew out his sentence, waiting for her to finish it.

Beckett dropped her head and sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. "Because there's nothing to connect us, so this would literally be the last place they'd look for me."

"Yes, yes," Castle bobbed his head, gesturing dramatically with one hand to put some emphasis on that conclusion. "So, it's safer to stay here."

"With you?"

"Yes. With me," he agreed with a winning smile. "I'm not that bad, now am I? I promise not to bite."

She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "All right, Castle," she conceded, holding a hand up to stop his further attempts at persuading her. "You've convinced me." Beckett turned around and walked back to the sofa, dumping her duffel there. "But, I'll take the couch," she said firmly, leaving no room for any more debate. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed."

"Okay, fine… sure, whatever," Castle shrugged, going for nonchalant. He was just happy she'd agreed to stay.

Beckett raised an eyebrow as she glanced at him from over her shoulder. He pursed his lips and smiled. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her duffel. She bent down and unzipped it, taking out a small bag and a change of clothes.

"If it's okay, I'd like to take a shower," she said.

Castle nodded. "Yeah, sure… down the hall and to the left," he directed.

She offered him a small smile of thanks, and collected her things.

"I'll order us some Chinese," he called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom, casting one last judgmental look his way before closing the door and locking it behind her.

XXX

He woke up needing a cold shower.

Last night, after consuming way too much wine with their late supper, Castle had dreamed of Kate Beckett, wearing a teal tank top and obscenely short shorts, leading him through some jungle in search of buried treasure. Making matters worse, he awoke from his fantastical dream just when he was getting to the good stuff. It took him a moment to realize he'd just been dreaming and that there was no gloriously naked woman lying beside him in bed.

Castle sat up and groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He really needed to get these desires in check. The story needed to come first. Once he had that, then he could pursue other matters of a more carnal, biological nature. Slowly, he stood up and groggily padded out of his bedroom, intent on taking that cold shower to deal with his problem.

But before he could make the turn towards his bathroom, Castle caught scent of a wondrous and delicious aroma wafting from the direction of the kitchen. He blinked his eyes, feeling more awake as he walked down the hallway. Rounding the corner, Castle came to a stop. His mouth dropped as he gazed out at the sight before him.

Kate Beckett was standing in front of the stove, hair pulled back into a messy bun, dressed in black leggings and a maroon t-shirt that was a couple sizes too large for her. She lifted a cup to her lips and took a quick sip before continuing with her work. He watched, in awe, as she moved gracefully about his kitchen, like she was performing a ballet. She lifted the skillet, and moved around something that sizzled with a spatula, before pirouetting around and depositing the contents onto a large saucer plate. Castle followed the movement with his hungry eyes, finding the dish was stacked high with crispy bacon. His mouth began to water.

"Morning, Castle," she greeted with a small smile, spotting him lurking in the shadows of the hallway.

He hummed in response, forcing his legs to move, padding the rest of the way to join her in the kitchen. "I just woke up, and literally smelled the coffee and the bacon." He reached for a strip of bacon, but Beckett stopped him with a quick swat with the spatula.

"Still too hot," she chided.

Castle withdrew his hand, sticking out his lower lip like a petulant child, yearning a light laugh from his guest. He leaned an elbow against the kitchen counter and cocked his head to the side as he watched her move about. It was amazing. She was like a natural.

"Here's some coffee," she said, placing a freshly filled mug in front of him on the counter, before turning back around to tend to the scrambled eggs.

He accepted the proffered coffee with a bob of his head, still entranced by the sight before him. Castle held the mug up to his nose so he could inhale the rich aroma. It was intoxicating, just like her. His eyes followed her movements as she stirred the scrambled eggs with the spatula, making sure they were cooked evenly on all side.

"So, you cook," he said, taking a sip of his coffee and nodding in approval at the flavors the washed across his taste buds.

Beckett smiled, a look of fond remembrance, with a hint of sorrow, passing over her eyes. "Actually, my mom was an amazing cook," she told him. "She used to make Sunday brunch. And I would get the choice between pancakes, omelets, or waffles."

"Wow, that's funny," Castle chuckled, earning a confused look from her. He smirked. "Every Sunday, my mom would have me make her an ice pack and a Bloody Mary."

Her brow furrowed.

"She was in the theater," he explained with a shrug. "Still is."

Beckett shook her head at him as she turned off the burner and brought the eggs over to the empty serving dish. As if on cue, the toaster popped. She served the toast as well, making a nice display on the kitchen countertop.

"Wow," Castle exclaimed, looking down at the breakfast meal she'd constructed. He glanced back at her with a puzzled expression. "Not complaining, but where'd you get all this, because I know it wasn't from the refrigerator."

Beckett handed him a fork and shrugged. "I stopped by the corner grocery store after my morning run," she answered casually, as if it was no big deal.

Castle nearly choked on his eggs—still too hot—and stared back at her with an incredulous look. "You went… _outside_?" he hissed, blowing air in and out fast in an attempt to cool his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not some damsel in distress, Castle," she insisted, lifting her mug to take a sip of coffee. "I can take care of myself."

He relented with a nod of his head. He had no doubt that she could handle herself. She had snuck into a warehouse under FBI surveillance and hadn't been seen, except by him. Besides, there were still so many things he didn't know about this extraordinary woman. Castle raised his cup and took a slow sip of the deliciously rich coffee she'd prepared. Yes. He was definitely looking forward to learning more about Kate Beckett. And, if this breakfast meal was anything to go by, she was finally beginning to warm up to him.

They began to eat quietly, enjoying their food in a comfortable silence. He watched her eat, stabbing a clump of scrambled eggs with her fork, bringing it up to her mouth, and slowly chewing on it. Castle swallowed hard. It shouldn't be, but he found watching her eat highly erotic.

His cellphone buzzed across the surface of the kitchen countertop, where'd he left it plugged into the charger. He snatched it up, and slid his thumb across the screen to answer.

"Rick Castle," he greeted.

Beckett's eyes flicked up to him, and he stared back at her, listening to the man on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, yeah," he bobbed his head. "That really helps, Joel. Thanks. Yeah. Bye."

Castle hung up and walked back to his spot at the counter, snagging a piece of toast, taking a bit out of it as he scrolled through his contacts.

"Well?" Beckett asked with a raised eyebrow, growing irritated with his silence.

He jerked his head up and grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "Joel came through," he announced. "It wasn't strictly legal, and went against bank policy, but he managed to find out the name attached to the account that transferred that money to Rhinehart."

"The name, Castle," Beckett interjected, giving him a pointed look.

"Right," he shifted. "It was actually a company name: Prince Export Global."

Beckett placed both her hands on the table and lowered her head. He stood there, chewing his food as he watched her absorb the information. She looked tense. There was no way he was going to push for information at this juncture. He'd happily wait her out. She took a deep breath, before straightening back up and relaxing her shoulders.

"Prince Export Global… that was Ganz's company," she said.

"So… what does this mean?" he asked.

Beckett stared off into space for a long beat, before flicking her eyes up to meet his. "It means I need to go to LA."


	11. Chapter 10

**Treasure Hunter**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10**_

* * *

 _Location: Los Angeles International Airport_

* * *

Kate Beckett strolled confidently through the busy terminal after disembarking from the plane. She'd booked a flight for Los Angeles almost immediately after Castle's connection with New Amsterdam Bank and Trust informed them that the holder of the account that had been transferring funds to her stalker was Prince Global Export, the company run by Russell Ganz. The memories of her time on the island, battling Ganz and his mercenaries, were still fresh in her mind, despite the seven-year age of those recollections.

She thought Ganz had died when the helicopter crashed. Yet then again, she had also thought Mike Royce had died as well, and he had called her three weeks ago. But now he was dead. She had seen his body, the proof that she'd lacked seven years ago. His ashes were now mixed with the soil and sand on the island where she had originally thought she'd lost him. It seemed an appropriate resting place for him.

Kate shook her mind, clearing it of the lingering memories from the past. She needed to focus on the present. If Mike Royce hadn't died on that island, then how did he end up in a warehouse in Queens? What had drove him to do that? Those were the questions she didn't have answers to. And she wasn't going to sit around and wait. That wasn't her style. That wasn't who she was.

It had been easier to ditch Richard Castle back in New York than she'd originally thought. She'd waited until he took his shower to leave. Then she was on her way to LaGuardia, quickly booking the first available flight to Los Angeles. She had made it through the security checkpoint with little hassle. As a frequent flyer, Kate had become accustomed to the procedures involved with traveling. They had become almost routine to her.

And now she was in Los Angeles International Airport, making her way through the busy terminal. She only had her carryon bag, so she could skip baggage claim. As she followed the signs that would lead her out of the airport, Kate had the distinct feeling that she had picked up a tail. And after discovering she'd had a stalker camped out in a building across the street from her apartment, she was hypersensitive to any such foreboding suspicions.

Using everything she'd learned during her time with the NYPD, and in addition what Mike Royce had taught her when she had worked with him hunting down rare and precious relics, Kate zigzagged through the buzzing crowd, attempting to shake her shadow. After making several turns, she risked a glance over her shoulder and caught a quick glimpse of the suspected tail. Definitely male. He wore a blue ball cap and a brown suede jacket. A gray messenger bag was slung over his shoulder. He could be an ordinary passenger going about his business, but there was just a vibe coming off him that had her thinking there was more to him than his appearance would suggest.

Setting her eyes ahead, Kate curled her fingers tighter around the handle of her bag, and continued forward, already forming a plan in her mind. She weaved left around the flight status boards, spotting the restroom sign up above. Walking at a quick clip, like she desperately needed to relieve herself, Kate hurried into the women's restroom.

She encountered two other women inside, one—a harried soccer mom type—stepping into a stall, and the other—a meticulously dressed businesswoman—washing her hands at the row of sinks. Kate immediately marched up to the sinks. Cupping her palm under the wall mounted soap dispenser, she acquired a nice dollop of foamy soap. She moved, placing her hands under the spout and waited for the automatic system to activate, pouring cool water into her palms. She scrubbed her hands together until she felt clean. Snagging a paper towel from its holder, Kate stared back at her reflection in the wall length mirror while she dried her hands.

All this was unnecessary.

She really didn't have any pressing need to wash her hands.

It was all to buy time, testing how long her shadow would linger outside the restroom, if he was following her at all. This was a method she'd used often and successfully.

Kate waited for the businesswoman to leave, before tossing the paper towel in the trash bin and following her out of the restroom. The blonde businesswoman marched towards the loading gates, and Kate turned as if to follow, keeping her eyes peeled for her stalker. Yes. He was still there, doing a poor job of hiding himself as he leaned against the wall opposite the restroom exit. His head was bowed, the bill of the blue ball cap concealing most of his face. Maybe she was mistaken. Perhaps he wasn't following her.

But then he glanced up, revealing a ruggedly handsome visage.

"Castle?" she gasped, eyes wide, as she stalked towards him, closing the distance in a few quick strides of her long legs.

"Surprise!" he grinned, flashing her a winning smile.

"What are you doing here?" she punctuated her question by jabbing him in the chest with her finger.

"Ow," he pouted, rubbing the abused spot. And then added, in quiet awe, "Wow, you're really strong."

"Well?" she ignored his compliment, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here, Castle?"

"Like I told you before, I'm here for the story," he said.

"Sure," she scoffed, rolling her eyes, disbelieving. "You really expect me to buy that?"

He huffed, puffing out his chest. "It's the truth," he insisted. "What you do for a living is very compelling. You're like a real life—"

"Don't, just don't," she interrupted, shaking her head and holding up a hand to stop him. "Don't say Lara Croft."

Castle gave her a baffled look. "I was going to say Indiana Jones."

Kate scrunched up her face, not entirely certain she believed him. She sighed, and stepped back, assessing the situation. "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?" she asked.

"Nope," Castle said. "I'm like fungus that way… you know," he frowned, "that sounded better in my head."

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, ignoring him as she calculated the pros and cons of involving the Pulitzer Prize winning investigative journalist. She'd read his work. He was good, she'd give him that. But his personality left much to be desired, even if he was pleasant on the eyes.

"Fine," Kate relented, already regretting it. "But if we do this together you have to promise me that we're going to fly under the radar."

Castle gave her what she thought was an attempt at a reassuring smile, but it made her feel anything but. "Of course."

* * *

 _Location: 12_ _th_ _Precinct, New York City_

* * *

Detective Kevin Ryan sat at his desk, staring at the computer monitor as he rapidly typed in commands on the keyboard. After their off the books meetup with Kate Beckett, he and Esposito had caught a case. Presently, he was running through security footage from an ATM machine across the street from their crime scene. He was completely zoned in on what he was doing.

"Hey," Esposito announced his presence, causing Ryan to jump with a start.

"Whoa, dude, don't sneak up on me when I'm running surveillance," he said, placing a hand over his heart and flashing a glare up at his friend. "You know how focus I get."

Esposito let out a low chuckle and grinned, sitting down on the edge of Ryan's desk. "Yeah, whatever," he shook it off. "I got a question for you."

"Sure, ask away," Ryan said, his gaze slowly drifting back to the computer monitor. He was making some good headway and didn't want to lose track.

"Your friend," Esposito started, leaning in a little closer and lowering his voice, "This, Richard Castle fellow… just how well do you know him?"

Ryan frowned, surprised by the query. "What's this about?"

"Just curious is all," Esposito shrugged his shoulders, going for nonchalance, but Ryan wasn't buying it.

He narrowed his eyes, staring hard at his colleague and waited. Esposito could be pretty stubborn, but they'd been partners long enough that Ryan knew that if he had something on his chest, all he had to do was wait him out.

Esposito shifted uneasily and growled. "Fine, you wanna know what's buggy me?"

He nodded.

"Is he trustworthy?"

"Rick? Yeah," Ryan said, nodding his head, puzzled by the question. "He's a good guy, Javi. He may be a bit overzealous, but he's harmless."

"Are you sure?" Esposito gave him a hard, long look.

"Yeah," Ryan asserted, more confident than before. Castle was his friend, and he didn't like what Esposito was implying here. "What's your beef with him? Beckett seemed to trust him."

"The guy just rubbed me the wrong way," Esposito snorted, making a little sneer as he glanced off into the bullpen, crossing his arms over his chest. "He strolls on in like he's some bigshot, being overly familiar with Beckett. You heard what he said about those photos!? The guy's a total creep."

Ryan grinned, sensing the heart of the matter. His colleague always was a little overprotective of Beckett. After all, Esposito and her had been working together for a short while before Ryan had joined the team at the Twelfth. And, even though she was no longer with the force, she was still one them, and always would be. However, sometimes Esposito's protective streak was a bit too much. Ryan often wondered if his friend's feelings for their former colleague were more than brotherly.

"Or could it be you didn't like the way he was making goo-goo eyes at Beckett?" Ryan asked, leading.

Esposito scoffed, but didn't deny it. He shoved off from Ryan's desk with a disgruntled expression and stalked away, grumbling to himself. Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. He knew that if Rick Castle really did bother her, Beckett wouldn't need any help dealing with him. She was one tough cookie.

He smirked, and glanced over at his retreating colleague one last time, before shifting his attention back to the security footage on his computer monitor. It was probably a good thing that Esposito didn't know that Castle had followed Beckett out to LA. Ryan didn't even want to contemplate how his partner would react to that news. Anyways, it was moot point, Beckett really didn't need their help. She could take care of herself.

* * *

 _Location: Merrick Hotel, Los Angeles_

* * *

"You know," Kate drawled out slowly, slamming the car door shut after climbing out of the passenger seat, "driving around Los Angeles in a cherry red Ferrari hardly fits with flying under the radar."

Castle cocked his head as he looked at her with a cheeky grin, already striding around the front end of the car and tossing the keys to the hotel valet. "Trust me, baby, in this city, this _is_ flying under the radar." He made a gesture with his hand, as if to simulate flying low to the ground.

Kate fixed him with a hard stare, hands on hips, and added an unamused expression to the mix for good measure. "Judging by all the stares we got on the gridlocked freeway, I would beg to differ," she asserted. "And," she added, firming up her glare. "Don't call me, 'baby'." She spat out the endearment like it was something vile.

Castle raised his hands in apology. "Didn't mean any offense," he said, inclining his head conciliatorily. He rounded the car and went for the trunk, popping the lid and retrieving their luggage. Kate snatched her bag away from him the moment he returned to the curb.

"I can carry my own bag," she said when he looked at her with a pout.

Kate shook her head and rolled her eyes at his childish antics. She was already regretting her decision to allow him to tag along. Before he could say anything more, she spun on her heels and marched through the automatic sliding doors, entering the hotel lobby. She didn't even need to look behind to know he was following her. It didn't surprise her at all that he was right on her tail, like an overeager puppy, seeking attention.

She pursed her lips and knitted her eyebrows together, amused at the metaphor.

 _He's lucky he's cute_ , she thought, and then immediately chided herself for even thinking that. There was a reason she'd ditched him in New York. He was an irritating nuisance. All he'd done since they first met was try and nose his way into her life, supposedly for a story. She knew his work. It was good work. There was no doubt he was a brilliant investigative journalist. But Kate Beckett didn't like the idea of being the subject of his next article. She may pride herself on the high caliber of her work, but she shunned the spotlight.

Yet, she couldn't deny his usefulness up to this juncture. It was thanks to his connections that they were able to obtain the bank transfer records linking Neville Rhinehart, her stalker, to Russell Ganz's company, Prince Export Global. That was why she now found herself here in Los Angeles.

After a quick scan of the spacious lobby, Kate made her way towards the front desk to check in, Rick Castle right behind. She frowned, feeling his eyes on her.

"Castle," she called, feigning a sweet tone.

"Mmm?" he hummed distractedly.

"Stop staring at my ass," she growled fiercely, spinning around to add a glare to her statement.

His eyes jerked up to meet hers. He had the decency to blush. "Sorry," he bobbed his head, swallowing thickly as she continued to stare him down like she would have with a suspect in the interrogation box when she was still with the NYPD.

Kate nodded, satisfied for the moment. She turned back around and continued towards the front desk, allowing herself a brief smile. It was odd. Normally it annoyed her when men leered, yet it was different with Castle. She would never admit it out loud, but there was a part of her that actually liked it that he couldn't help but stare at her _assets_.

She shook her head, pursing her lips and frowning. This was why she didn't want him to tag along. His presence was far too distracting. It had never been a problem before. Kate found it frustratingly difficult to suppress the unexpected and growing attraction she felt when Rick Castle was around. This was an entirely new experience for her. He was far from the first attractive man she'd worked with and she'd never had trouble focusing on her task then. So, it baffled her that she now had to struggle with such feelings.

"Hello, welcome to the Merrick," said a perky blonde behind the desk. She beamed brightly. "How may I assist you today?"

Kate groaned inwardly. She hated fake cheerfulness. "Um, yes, I'm checking in. Reservation is under Beckett, but I'll need to change it to a two-room suite," she said as Castle slid up beside her, leisurely leaning his elbow on the marble counter and winking at the blonde, who bit her lip to suppress a giggle. Kate rolled her eyes.

After overcoming her girlish response to the ruggedly handsome writer, the blonde clerk glanced down at the computer screen in front of her. Her nose wrinkled, and she glanced up apologetically.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Beckett," she said, "but a sales convention is going on and it appears there was an error on our part, and your room was accidently given to someone else. On behalf of the Merrick, I apologize."

"Do you have any other openings?" Kate asked, furrowing her brow.

The blonde checked the screen again. "Sorry, all we have available is the honeymoon suite."

Kate opened her mouth, but before she could respond, she was interrupted by an enthusiastic Rick Castle.

"Oh, that's fine, we'll take it!"


End file.
